A Man of Few Words
by Sweet Little Mary Sue
Summary: Emma Cantrell had been in love with Forrest Bondurant for as long as she could remember, but circumstances in life had always kept him from her, and she'd eventually married her best friend, Walton, not because she was in love, but because she was lonely. Now she was a widow, had been for ten years, and hard times drove her to Blackwater Station...Forrest/OC.
1. Chapter One

A Man of Few Words

Sweet Little Mary Sue

Synopsis: Emma Cantrell had been in love with Forrest Bondurant for as long as she could remember, but circumstances in life had always kept him from her, and she'd eventually married her best friend, Walton, not because she was in love, but because she was lonely. Now she was a widow, had been for ten years, and hard times drove her to Blackwater Station, to a position tending bar and cooking for the patrons, all under the watchful eye of Forrest, who she was certain was indifferent to her, as he always had been, but she was wrong. The truth of the matter was that he had loved her since they were teenagers, and he'd just never had the nerve to make his move, but how long would his resolve hold out now that she was right there in front of him each and every day?

Disclaimer: I'm writing this story for my own enjoyment, therefore I won't receive any monetary compensation for my efforts, nor am I trying to take credit for any part of the story of the Bondurant's. I am simply interweaving my own ideas (along with my own shameful wish fulfillment) into what already exists. The only things that I can claim as my own are Emma and Walton Cantrell, along with any and all who travel with them from my own imagination.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye: This story is rated M for mild to moderate cursing, violence and a variety of citrus, both limes and lemons.

Chapter One

Emma's POV

Had someone told me that the day would come where I would find myself standing on the front porch of Blackwater Station, feeling excruciatingly self-conscious and out of place while I tried to muster the courage to knock on the door, I would have told them that they were out of their minds. The Bondurant place was the sort of establishment that no self-respecting lady would have been caught dead in, and at one time I would have been firmly amongst their ranks, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Lord knew that I was almost over my head in the sinking mire of despair.

Truth was, life hadn't been all that swell, even before Walton had passed, but I'd quickly learned that our simple life was a dream life compared to that which lay in store for a widow with no friends or relations. By the sheer grace of God I'd found a position with Chandler and Myra Hayes, an older couple who'd never been blessed with any children who might help them out 'round the house, and they had been kind enough to offer me room and board as part of my wages, but now they were moving to Georgia, to live with Myra's sister, and once more I was to be homeless and nearly penniless.

There weren't any jobs in town for a respectable female to fill, truth be told, there weren't any jobs for _anyone_ for the most part, at least, not the sort that were palatable to those who were law-abiding folk, but I knew that I had to do what was necessary to survive, well, what was necessary that allowed me to keep my clothes on my body and stay standing on my feet. There were bills to be paid, and I was kind of fond of partaking of a meal on a regular basis, which meant that I was going to have to have a new job, whether it was respectable or not.

The prospect of tending the bar and grill at Blackwater Station was daunting enough, but even more unnerving was the thought that I would have to saunter inside and ask Forrest Bondurant to give me a chance, and if he was kind enough to do so, then I would see him each and every day. There had been a time in my life when a prospect like that would have made my heart soar, but I'd long ago accepted the cold, hard truth that he had never, and would never, see me the way that I beheld him, and I knew that it would be torturous to be in such close proximity to him every day.

He'd never married, and as far as I knew he didn't have a sweetheart, but what if he did, one that no one knew about, and what if I had to watch him with her? What if he laid his hand on her waist, or smoothed her hair back over her ear, right there in front of me? How on earth was I going to deal with that? How was I going to keep the green-eyed monster at bay if I had to bear witness of his love for a woman who wasn't me?

"Land sakes, Emma, get a grip on yourself!" I hissed beneath my breath. There I was, working myself into a frenzy over possibilities that I'd cooked up in my imagination, like an addle minded ninny, when my purpose here was to obtain a paying job, which I was never going to get, if I stayed where I was, stewing on the front porch, standing like a fool in front of the door, that I'd yet to knock on, not even once…..

"How do, Mrs. Cantrell?" a masculine voice asked from the steps behind me, startling me to such a degree that I jumped and squealed before I could stop myself. I heard scrambling footsteps moving to stand beside me and turned, with my face on fire, to find Howard Bondurant, looking half-soused, just as he always did, though there was concern in his eyes as well.

"Beg pardon, ma'am, I didn't mean t' startle ya," he said, reaching out a hand to steady me. "I thought ya heard me comin' up behind ya."

I should have heard him, I was fairly certain that he hadn't been tiptoeing as he came up behind me, but I'd been too fixated on other things to take notice of him, which didn't speak very highly of my survival instinct, did it?

"That's quite alright, Mr. Bondurant," I said, backing away from his hand as discreetly and politely as I could, under the premise of straightening my dress. "I should have been paying closer attention to my surroundings, so the fault lies with me."

"'Mr. Bondurant'?" he said wonderingly, then laughed heartily and slapped his hand against his knee. "Now, don't that beat all? I can't recollect a time in my life when anyone thought enough of me to address me so formally. That was kind of you to do so, ma'am, but then, you always was a kind woman, wasn't you?"

His speech was more than a little slurred, and he was swaying from one foot to the other, and for one awful moment it seemed likely that he was going to lose his balance and fall on me, but thankfully he avoided me as he tumbled, though he landed on the porch with a resounding crash, and promptly began snoring. I watched him for a moment, and wondered if I ought to fetch help, when, as if on cue, the door opened and Forrest Bondurant filled the doorway, glancing from me, to his brother, and then back to me once more.

He made a sound that was a cross between a grunt and a growl, which was a standard Forrest response, then reached out to nudge his brother, in a surprisingly gentle fashion, with the toe of his boot. "Hello, Emma," he said quietly, watching his brother snore for a moment, before he returned his eyes to mine. "I hope that Howard didn't bother you too much before he passed out."

He always addressed me as Emma, and never as Mrs. Cantrell, not even when Walton had been alive, not that we'd spoken all that much then, well, _ever_, to be perfectly honest. I suppose that decorum would have said that I ought to have been offended that he addressed me so familiarly, but I'd always enjoyed hearing his voice speak my name…it made me feel closer to him somehow.

"Hello, Forrest," I murmured self-consciously, because I could feel the heat that was radiating from my face and knew that I was blushing something awful. "He didn't truly bother me; he just startled me, that's all."

There he went again with that sound, then he nudged his brother with his boot again, this time a bit harder than he had before, not that it seemed to bother Howard. "What brings you out this way?" he asked, moving to stand beside the door, which I took as his way of inviting me to step inside. "Are you aiming to trade with me, or is this a social call?"

I started to follow him, then looked down at Howard, and wondered if I ought to help Forrest bring him inside. "Shouldn't we….?" I said, blushing brighter when he gave me the full measure of his gaze. "Oughtn't we….?"

"He's slept in worse places," he said simply, effectively closing the conversation, though his reassurance did little to convince me that leaving his brother where he was, as he was, was the proper thing to do. In the end I decided to take him at his word, figuring that he had plenty of experience with this sort of thing, then took a deep breath and followed him inside.

He led me across the room to a table that was filled with ledgers and stacks of cash and offered me a chair before he made his way over to the bar and poured a fresh cup of coffee, which he placed in front of me before he sat down in the seat that he'd undoubtedly abandoned when he caught wind of the hubbub that was playing out on his front porch.

"I need a job, Forrest," I said, figuring there was no reason why I ought to beat around the bush. "The Hayes' will be moving to Atlanta in a couple of weeks, and I wanted to find myself a new means of employment as soon as I could, so that I wouldn't have to scramble around at the last moment, but there's no jobs to be had in town. I know that it's more than a little presumptuous of me to ask, but I was hoping that you might need someone to help around here. I'm a good cook, and I'll work hard. I'm honest and I don't shirk my tasks and….."

"You don't have to tell me who you are, Emma," he interrupted, his voice quiet and unhurried, just as it always was. "I know what sort of woman you are, and what sort you're not. I just need to know when you'll be ready to start working, that's all."

I felt a bit flustered from his words and took a drink of my coffee, more of a gulp than a sip, and burned my tongue something awful, which was fortunate, in a way, because it helped to mask the overly strong taste of the beverage that I was none too fond of, and had only drank out of politeness and in a bid to hide the fact that he'd rattled me. Unfortunately, I started to choke, because I gasped when I burned my tongue and I could only begin to imagine the spectacle that I was making of myself as I flailed about in my chair, struggling to catch my breath.

Most times Forrest didn't move all that fast, but this time was an exception as he moved around the table and started slapping his hand on my back. I wasn't sure if his movements were born in haste and worry, and that was why it felt like he was bruising my flesh, or if his touch was actually one that he'd consider gentle, but I was relieved when I was able to breathe on my own again.

"It ain't the best coffee in the world, but don't you think that choking's a mite bit severe for a criticism?" he said, never cracking a smile, not even when I started giggling nonstop, like a moron, and was forced to dig into my purse for a hankie, to stem the mirthful tears that were pouring out of my eyes.

"I'm s-sorry," I stammered, once I'd gained control of myself. "I took a gulp, instead of a sip and burned myself, which caused me to suck the coffee into my windpipe and…well; you saw the rest, so there's no reason for me to babble, is there?"

He half-growled, half-grunted and raised one eyebrow at me, which I suppose was his way of agreeing with me. "What day should I expect you?" he asked, bending over with a handkerchief in hand, to wipe away the coffee that I hadn't noticed had splashed on my arm.

"Thank you," I said, getting flustered all over again. "Mrs. Hayes' sister will arrive from Atlanta on Saturday, to help with packing up the house, so I could start that day, if that would work for you."

He made a noise of agreement, at least, that's what it sounded like to me, and folded his soiled handkerchief. "I'll expect you at two o'clock, and we close down at ten. Will that suit you?"

Eight hours of pay, with nothing subtracted for room and board? That sounded like a dream come true to me. "That will suit me just fine, Forrest," I said, rising to my feet, feeling the need to leave as soon as possible, so that I could soak my dress before the coffee set in for good. I didn't have many nice things to wear, and it would be silly to ruin my dress by staying to visit. Besides which, Forrest wasn't exactly the sort to sit and shoot the breeze anyway, especially with a woman, I would imagine.

"I'll be here at two," I said, pleased that he'd risen to his feet to escort me to the door, and then further, to my car, stopping only to nudge his brother as we passed him.

"Drive safe," he said, helping me into the car, and closing the door behind me. "I'll see you Saturday at two."

"_I can hardly wait_," I thought to myself as I drove away, and cursed myself as a ninny when I blushed, though my chastisement didn't stop me from grinning like a fool all the way back into town. I reasoned that it was best to get all of that nonsense out of my system before Saturday, even though I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that those intentions would go right out the window as soon as he looked at me. Oh, well…there was never any harm in trying, was there?

Forrest's POV

It was odd how quickly Emma had established herself in our place, and I wondered how I'd gotten along without her for as long as I had. She was a hard worker, she showed up fifteen minutes early each and every shift and never shirked a task, not that I'd expected her to. She was friendly with all of the customers, and greeted them with a smile and was genial, but not encouraging to the men who all couldn't help but feel a little bit smitten by her. I knew how they felt, I'd been that way myself since I was fourteen, and it was an awareness that grew stronger with each day that passed.

Tuesday's were generally slow, as a rule, and I'd taken a seat in my office, to go over my books, when suddenly she made her way through the doorway with a plate of food and a fresh cup of coffee for me.

"I thought that you were probably getting a mite bit peckish," she said, waiting patiently until I'd cleared a spot on my desk before she placed the meal in front of me. "Is there anything else that I can get for you, Forrest, or do you have everything that you need?"

Hmm…that was a loaded question. Chances were, she didn't have any idea at all that I'd loved her from afar for so many years, so it wouldn't occur to her that what she'd intended as an innocent question, so that she might be of help to me, immediately brought to my mind the fact that there were a great many things that I wanted and needed from her, mainly I wanted and needed _her_, but I couldn't tell her that, could I?

"This will be fine, thank you," I said, taking a moment to admire her as she took a napkin, and the shakers filled with salt and pepper, out of her apron pocket. She had been a pretty girl who'd grown to be a beautiful woman, a fine lady, one who'd been too good for a man as undeniably stupid as Walton Cantrell had been, though I suppose the same could, and probably would, be said about me.

"Alright, then, I'll leave you to it," she said, flashing me one of her special smiles before she turned to leave, taking my dirty cup with her. It didn't dawn on me until after the door had closed that she'd probably hoped that I would return her smile, but it was just as well that she'd left, rather than waiting, because that sort of thing had never, and, I imagined, would never come easily to me.

I turned my attention to the plate, and, after checking to see that no one was watching, I bent my head and sniffed the smell deep into my nose. She was a fine cook, Emma was, spectacular, as a matter of fact, and tonight's fare was chicken fried steak, with mashed potatoes and cream gravy and corn. She'd placed a couple of her flaky sourdough biscuits on the plate as well, and I knew that there was apple pie for dessert, at least, I knew that she'd baked a couple of them, if I could wrangle a piece for myself once everyone else in the place got wind of them, that is.

It was funny, I suppose, that I'd never given much thought to courting, or to marriage. It was something that most men thought about at one time or another, some with anticipation, others with dread, but it had just never been something I'd thought about. It had hurt, when Emma married Walton, but the pain had been as much for her as it had been for myself, because I knew that she didn't love him.

It occurred to me, sitting there, cutting my steak into manageable pieces, rather than spearing it, whole, with my fork and eating it that way, just in case she was looking, that she had every quality that a man would want in a wife. She was beautiful, she was kind, and hardworking. She always seemed to have a smile on her face, she had a sense of humor and a figure that a man could admire all throughout the day and never grow tired of, and on top of all of that, she could cook. It was a wonder that someone else hadn't snapped her up after they'd planted Walt in the ground.

Then it dawned on me that someone might have snapped her up and I just didn't know about it. I realized that she might be in love with someone, a secret sweetheart, and the day might come when I would have to watch, from afar, while she shackled herself to some other halfwit who wasn't fit to lick the soles of her shoes, and damned if I didn't feel a red-hot surge of what could only be called a fit of jealous temper course through my veins.

"_What in hell are you getting all worked up about_?" I asked myself, in my mind, where no one would hear me. "_Emma would no more think of you in that way than she would the man in the moon, and you'd do best to keep your feelings to yourself. You've never been one for telling others your wishes and desires, so why would you want to start now_?"

It sounded like wisdom, like good advice, but then she passed by the office door, smiling that smile, with her brown eyes twinkling at me and I forgot all about my little speech in lieu of her face and her figure…and that blue speckled plate, holding a gigantic wedge of apple pie that she'd saved, just for me.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Forrest's POV

Hmm…it was one forty-five, and Emma wasn't walking through the door. I suppose that it made perfect sense that a person would run late from time to time, but for four days straight she'd walked through the door promptly at a quarter to two, and here it was, the fifth day, Thursday, and she wasn't there when she ought to have been, and I couldn't help but feel as if there might be something wrong.

She was a competent woman, one who'd taken care of herself for the past ten years just fine, but I worried about her none the less. She'd always been special to me, and I'd helped her out as much as I could since Walton had up and died, on the sly, of course, but now I had permission to do so out in the open, just so long as I hid my possessiveness as well as I could.

I checked my watch, as secretly as possible, so my worry wouldn't be obvious to those around me, especially my nosy little brother Jack, and saw that it was ten minutes 'til two, ten minutes until her shift was due to begin, meaning that she was five minutes late. It could have been something tiny and meaningless that was making her run a little behind, that made perfect sense, or, at least it did for everyone else, but not for Emma.

"Shouldn't Emma be here by now?" Jack asked, glancing up from the salt and pepper shakers that I'd tasked him to fill, looking first at me, then at the door. "She seems to be a creature of habit, one who follows a schedule, and that means that she ought to have walked through the door five minutes ago, don't it?"

I took a deep breath and released it in a low growl as I looked back at him, which thankfully made him return to his work before he made me any angrier than I already was. It would seem that I hadn't been as secretive about my worries as I'd hoped to be, and sure enough Jack had caught onto the scent of my concern like a well-trained bloodhound…it was just unfortunate that he wasn't as keen in the other aspects of his life as he was when it came to minding everyone else's business.

Five minutes remained until the hour would be chiming two, and I found myself pacing around the room, well, shuffling was a more apt description, but whatever word you chose to use, I was repeating my path, 'round and 'round, in a circle, undoubtedly making a spectacle of myself and drawing the attention of all the customers. I would imagine that they would excuse my behavior, because they would reckon that I was soused from too much of my own product, and if that's what they thought, it was fine with me, because it was easier than me trying to explain the truth.

I counted each of the five minutes that remained, second by second, and when two o'clock showed itself on my watch, my mind instantly leaped to the conclusion that something was wrong, that something bad had happened to her, and I felt an equal share of fear, and anger, born from that fear, take a firm, and consuming, hold on me.

"Do you think that I ought to give her a ring, see if she's left yet?" Jack said, sounding like he'd been ready to bust from holding in his words of wisdom and advice. And his voice grated across my nerves, just as if he'd shouted, even though he'd been careful to keep his tone low. "It ain't like Emma to be late, and she ought to have been here fifteen….."

"I know when she ought to have been here," I growled, in a tone that shut him up in an instant. "And no, you don't need to call and get the Hayes' in a lather, just in case she's already left their place. What you need to do is concentrate your attention on your work, and mind your own damned business for once in your life, baby brother."

If anyone was going to call, it was going to be me, but I knew better than to do so. It was bad enough, to have a crowd of drunks taking notice of the fact that your behavior was a little off kilter, but there was no way that I was going to give Chandler and Myra Hayes the opportunity to gossip over the fence rails about me, not while I was alive and kicking. That just left me with one option, other than pacing the floor and stewing, and that was to go and look for her myself.

"Keep a close eye on things while I'm gone," I called out to Jack, who was still filling the damned salt and pepper shakers, even though he ought to have been done with them at least ten minutes ago…I swear that in a race uphill, good ol' molasses would still beat him by a mile. "And I know how much is in that till, right down to the last penny, so don't even think about employing any sticky fingers when handling the cash flow, or I'll be taking the difference out of your hide."

I was fairly certain that he muttered some smartassed comment or another as I made my way outside, but I was too preoccupied to make my way back inside and give him a thrashing. That sort of thing could always wait, until I'd handled more important business, because this was Jack that we were talking about, and Lord knows he'd do something stupid, hell, he'd probably do ten or twelve things before I returned, and I could just lump all of the smacks together and save time and energy in the long run.

His correction would have to keep until after I'd brought Emma back safe with me, because I _was_ going to bring her back, safe and sound…there was no other way that I could wrap my mind around what was going on and keep a good grip on my anger, unless I kept telling myself that she was fine. I just hoped that I could keep my temper in check once I found her, because worry tended to make me mad, and I was worried, hell, I was downright agitated…she better have a damned good reason for doing this to me.

Emma's POV

Walton had been so proud of his Model T, the one that he'd bought brand-new in the fall of 1920, he'd called it his baby, and in some ways I suspected that he'd loved the cursed car more than he had ever cared for me, but now he was gone, and the blasted car seemed to realize that its devoted master was not the one who was driving it nowadays, and seemed to have a personal vendetta against me, one that meant that the car would break down where it damn well pleased, when it damn well pleased, which was why I was currently doing my best to hightail in to Blackwater Station on foot, wondering if I'd be fired for being so late.

I was a fast walker, most of the time, but my speed was compromised due to the fact that I had been walking for a mile in heels, and also, to a larger degree, because I'd foolishly kicked the side of Walton's temperamental Tin Lizzie, and needless to say, my footwear hadn't provided much of a cushion when they met with the unyielding frame of my husband's true love. That was the main reason that I was moving so damned slow, because a body never got anywhere fast when they were limping, and my hobble was becoming more and more pronounced with each moment that passed by.

I was all set to give into the urge to go on ahead and feel sorry for myself, but then I saw a vehicle approaching me, kicking up dust this way and that, which meant that the driver was moving along at a good clip, and I pondered whether I ought to dive into the ditch, lest they hit me, but finally they started to decelerate, and my heart skipped a beat in its rhythm when the vehicle proved to be a familiar pickup truck, that was even more decrepit than my inherited Model T, driven by none other than Forrest Bondurant, who I might have been, who I _would_ have been thrilled to see, had he not had such a tempestuous look on his handsome face.

He brought the truck to a screeching stop, well, actually to a screeching, creaking, bone rattling stop, and stared at me for a moment, before he wrenched open the door and stalked over to where I was standing, positively dumbstruck and stupidly dazzled. Some people might have called the look on his face angry or maybe even enraged, but I knew that I'd hit the nail square on the head with tempestuous, because his expression was that of stormy weather, dark and threatening, even the look that was in his eyes, which had the heat of lightning boiling around in their depths, and I started to worry about the possibility that I was about to get struck, not literally, mind you, but with the harshness of his temper instead.

From what I could recall, it seemed that Forrest was known to have a deep-seated temper, but it was something that he usually tended to keep firmly in check, which I'd always taken to be an admirable quality and one that was downright essential in life, especially for someone who owned and operated their own business. That being said, I had a good idea that he had reached the end of his tether, long before he'd found me, and I readied myself for the inevitable explosion of fury, followed by him giving me the boot, which meant that my life was just about to get a hell of a lot harder, damn it all to perdition.

He made that noise of his, the one that I'd long since grown used to, the one that, truth be told, I was rather fond of. "You're late, Emma," he said quietly, reaching out a hand, then hesitating, drawing it back halfway, before he half-growled, half-grunted again, and reached out to smooth back a lock of my hair that had found its way free of my upsweep. "You always arrive at one forty-five, to go to work at two, but today you didn't…why is that?"

I could hear the deep rumble of his voice, and then, beneath it, the heat of his temper, which confirmed that he was angry with me, but other than that he gave no sign that he was displeased. It took me aback, to feel his hand on me, even if it was just my hair that he touched, and because of that I took a little bit longer than I ought to have needed to answer him, but this was a first for me, and I was going to enjoy it, even if I did look like a dolt.

"My car broke down about a mile back," I said, pointing over my shoulder, though he undoubtedly knew which direction I'd meant, which left me feeling like even more of a clodpoll than I had before. "I was trying to make it on time, but I, ah, _injured_ my foot, and it's slowed me down considerably, I'm afraid."

He narrowed his eyes at me, and then turned his attention to my feet. "Which one did you hurt?" he asked, slowly squatting down to the ground. "Was it the right one or the left one?"

It dawned on me that he was in the position to get a look up my skirt, should a burst of wind happen along, and scandalously enough, I found myself wishing that one might just do that, though I don't know why he would want a look at my hose and garter belt…not to mention my panties.

"The right one," I said, and then I just about choked when he reached out and gently took that foot into his hand. It put me in a somewhat awkward position, balancing on one foot and doing my damnedest not to fall over on him, but it was well worth the trouble, to feel him slip my shoe off and run his fingers all over my foot and ankle, searching out any injuries.

"Hmm…it don't feel like there's any broken bones," he said, slowly sliding my shoe back in place and rising to his feet. "Can you walk alright?"

It occurred to me that I could have said no, and perhaps he might have felt honor bound to carry me, but then I reasoned that it was wrong to lie, it was a sin to do so, and besides which, he didn't need to be hauling me up in his arms anyway. I had the feeling that his back troubled him from time to time, and the last thing it needed was the strain of my weight. Besides which, if he thought that I was hurt he might take me back to the Hayes', instead of to Blackwater Station, and I wasn't about to miss out on a night of his company.

"I'll be fine," I assured him, taking a couple of steps, just to prove that I could walk on my own. "I reckon that my pride took more of a beating than my foot did."

Dammit…I hadn't meant to mention that, and sure enough he latched onto my words, just as I'd hoped he wouldn't. "What sort of beating did your foot take?" he asked, helping me to the passenger door, then up, into the cab of the truck. "You didn't go and do something foolish like kicking your car when it didn't work, did you?"

Double dammit…I might have known that he'd guess right the first time. "Of course not," I said, trying to giggle, as if I didn't have a care in the world, and wincing when the effort fell flat. "I, ah, well, that is, I…_sprained_ it, while I was walking….."

Ah, geez…so much for not telling any lies, and what was worse than that was the fact that it was a lousy lie, completely unbelievable, because I've always been a rotten liar, which I supposed wasn't a bad thing, except for times like this one, when I was telling said whopper to my boss, who clearly wasn't buying one word that I'd said.

"Mmm-hmm," he said, starting the truck and turning it around, back toward Blackwater Station. "You know, I'd take it as a kindness if you'd refrain from fibbing while you're sitting so close to me, Emma. After all, I'd hate for one of those lightning bolts to hit me by mistake, if you catch my drift."

Forrest's POV

"Are you hungry, Forrest?"

I looked up from my books and found her framed in the doorway of my office, leaning back against the jamb, with her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing blue, it seemed to be a color that she fancied, and I allowed myself to admire her as much as I dared. It was generally a practice that I only employed when I was certain that she wouldn't notice, but I just couldn't help myself, not with her standing right there, looking so fine, and wearing a smile that hit me square in the center of my chest.

"Hmm…I reckon I am," I said slowly, my mind entertaining more than just the tasty fare she'd cooked up for the special of the night. "But you don't have to wait on me, Emma. I can make my way to the bar just fine….."

"I know you can, Forrest," she interrupted, pushing away from the doorframe. "I don't offer to bring supper to you here because I think that the walk to the bar would be too strenuous for you. I want to do it because I enjoy doing things for you, and I would consider it a kindness if you'd let me to continue in that fashion."

The truth of the matter was that I took a great deal of pleasure from the fact that she liked to do things for me, but I never wanted her to think that I expected her to wait on me, to do, and to fetch and deliver for me. I'd learned a long time ago to take care of myself, and I had no qualms about cooking and cleaning for myself, that being said, it was nice to have someone who wanted to take care of me, and the best thing of all was that it was Emma who was watching over me.

"Alright," I said slowly, clearing a spot on my desk. "That would be mighty kind of you, Emma."

She smiled brightly, reaching out and grabbing hold of me in the center of my chest all over again. "Just give me a minute to put a plate together," she said, turning and leaving the room as quickly as her injured foot would allow. "Would you like coffee with that, or a nice glass of iced tea instead…as if I didn't already know?"

"Hmm…a hot cup of coffee would be nice," I said, enjoying the way that the skirt of her dress shimmied across her backside while she was walking away from me. I suppose that I was a creature of habit, but I'd formed my opinions on what I liked and disliked a long time ago, and it was unlikely that I'd change my mind anytime soon. It was just a little odd to me, how quickly she'd learned what my preferences were, odd, but very nice.

She was still limping while she walked, it was something that was even more noticeable when she was walking toward me, and I was forced to bite back a smile as I entertained the image of her pulling back her foot and kicking that hunk of junk that was laughably called a car when it quit working. It hadn't taken me long to puzzle out that she'd done so and injured her foot, no matter what stories she chose to make up, and it had been worth it, teasing her the way that I had, because she sure was pretty when she blushed.

She made her way back to the office, moving slowly so as not to spill the contents of the brimming cup of coffee, and placed the bounty of delicious food in front to me. Tonight's special was pork chops, two of them, paired with scalloped potatoes, black-eyed peas, cornbread and a fan of baked apple. I appreciated the smell of her cooking as secretly as possible, my mouth watering, and thought that I was bound to get fat, if she kept on spoiling me the way that she was.

"Be sure to save room for dessert," she said, producing a napkin, silverware and the salt and pepper shakers from the front pocket of her apron, just as she did every evening. "I made peach cobbler, with fresh cream just waiting to be ladled on top."

Yes, I was definitely in danger of growing roly-poly, but I wasn't inclined to complain too much. There were some who would say that it was sinful for a man to be living so well, when there was so much suffering in the world, but I couldn't recollect there ever being any law, whether written or spoken or known, that said that a man couldn't enjoy the fruits of his own labor, no matter how those around him fared. Long story short, me starving and scraping wasn't going to change anyone else's circumstance in life, was it?

"Did you take the time to fix a plate for yourself?" I asked, turning toward her and drawing in her scent, the one that lingered beneath the aromas of my supper, a soft, feminine smell that I found myself recalling every night while I laid on my mattress, doing my best to sleep. "Or have you been too caught up in taking care of everyone else to tend to yourself?"

Her eyes widened as she turned toward me, her face, her lips, resting just inches from mine. "I haven't had time," she admitted, blushing bright red while she gazed at me. "I was running late, as you know, and I haven't had a chance to take a break…not that I'm complaining."

No, she wasn't one for complaining, was she? Any woman who'd stayed married to Walton Cantrell, in spite of his overall stupidity and uselessness had to have the patience of a saint. "Hmm…you're going to take the time right now," I told her, reaching out to touch her hand with my fingertip, marveling at the satiny texture of her skin, so soft and so warm against my calloused flesh. "Why don't you fix a plate for yourself and keep me company while I eat my supper, then we can have some of that cobbler afterward."

It dawned on me that I might have been overstepping my bounds, but I appreciated her company, and what better way for me to enjoy said company, but to extend a dinner invitation. "But, well, I mean, who would watch over things?" she asked, watching my fingertip with a look on her face that was unlike any I'd seen before, one that pleased me, and made me think that though she might not have loved me as I did her, but at least she seemed to fancy me more than any other fellow. "What if someone comes in….?"

"Jack can handle them just fine," I said firmly, determined that I would have my way. "He may be as useless as tits on a boar hog in some ways, but he can tend to the customers just fine."

She smiled, and then laughed, no doubt putting a picture to the words that I'd spoken. "Alright, I'll have supper with you, and dessert, but I'm going to stay late tonight, since I was late….."

"Hmm…I'll be taking you home after supper," I said, taking more pleasure than I ought to in seeing the look of disbelief, paired with one of outrage, which broke out on her face. "You've had a hard day, and you need your rest. There'll be plenty of time for you to make up what you missed tomorrow."

"But….."

"There's nothing more that needs to be said," I told her, using the same tone that I'd perfected with Jack. "Now then, why don't you get a plate for yourself, so that we can eat while it's still warm, alright?"

She wanted to argue, I could see that clear as day, but in the end she let it go. From what I could see, I had exasperated her, but I'd pleased her as well, and that confused me. I thought that a woman would be upset with a man worrying about her and bossing her about, but she wasn't…and I couldn't help but wonder why that was.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Forrest's POV

I spent a good part of the day going over my inventory and readying things for the deliveries tomorrow. There were a lot of sales to be made, a lot of shine to be sold, and therefore there was a great deal of planning and making ready to be done. I suppose there were those who'd say that it was sinful for a man to partake in the tasting of liquor on a Sunday, so it really had to rub them the wrong way to see us Bondurant boys out and about on church day, providing our demon brew to those that liked to knock back a jar of ruckus juice come day or night, rain or shine.

Of course, there were also those who would frown upon the fact that we'd sell to anyone who had the money to buy our product, no matter what the color of their skin was, but these were all issues which were moot points with me. I made money and provided a home and comfort and safety for my family, and that was all that mattered to me. Prohibition was the worst idea that the powers that be had ever come up with, until that point, and there was no harm in me providing those who wanted and needed it with a drink, was there?

"Forrest?"

Emma's voice was faint, it sounded like she was calling for me from the front porch. I hurried to cover everything up and stepped outside, locking the door behind me and hiding the key inside my shirt, just like I always did. She hadn't asked any questions about our other commerce, even though I knew that she knew about what we did behind the cover of our legitimate business, but there wasn't any reason to expose her to more than what was necessary in our day-to-day operation.

"Forrest?" she called again, closer this time, and she was nearly upon me when I spoke her name and caught her by surprise, enough so that she jumped in the air and let loose with an earsplitting shriek while she did a little shimmy and shake once her feet hit the ground again, a sight that almost made me smile, almost, but not quite.

"Land sakes, you scared me half to death, Forrest Bondurant!" she hollered, reaching out to smack her hand against my arm. "What on earth were you thinking, slinking about like a ghost, for heaven's sake?"

She'd smacked me hard enough that it stung a mite bit, where she'd slapped me, but I didn't get mad at her. Truth be told, I was having a hell of a time keeping my smiles to myself by that point. I'd seen enough of her approach to know that she hadn't been looking at the spot where I'd been, so it was not surprising that I'd caught her completely unaware, but it wasn't like I'd done it on purpose. It wasn't my fault that she was a tad bit unobservant, was it?

"Hmm…I wasn't exactly 'slinking about'," I grumbled, reaching out with one hand to capture hers before she could land another smack, while I rubbed the sore spot she'd caused me with the other. "I suppose that it might have been ungentlemanly of me to walk out into the open, in broad daylight, without sending out a fellow with a banjo playin' a jig ahead of me, so you would know that I was there, but it just never dawned on me that I needed to do so."

Her eyes narrowed while she looked up at me, and she tightened her fingers on my hand, both of which served to tell me that she was just about to lay into me and give me a piece of her mind, but her tirade was nipped in the bud by the banging sound of the screen door of the station flying open, and the sight of both of my brothers rushing outside, each of them equally eager to be the heroic knight to Emma's damsel in distress.

"What happened?" Howard called, cupping his hands 'round his mouth to be heard, not that he needed to do so, given the strength of his voice. "Did she stumble on a critter of some sort, or did she just get a good gander at your ugly mug in the sunshine, Forrest?"

That damned Howard, he always thought that he was so funny, and that damned Jack, he only abetted Howard in his delusions by laughing, make that, braying like a donkey, each and every time that our brother brought out a joke or smartassed comment that wasn't aimed in his direction. Most of the time, it _was_ Jack who acted as the butt of the joke, but I had a good idea that Howard was focusing on me this time because he wanted to embarrass me in front of Emma, and he was doing a fine job of it too.

"You don't need to worry none about him, Emma!" Jack called, smiling at Howard and poking an elbow in his ribs, looking for approval, and making even more of an ass of himself than he normally would. "Granted that he looks like a troll who's been beaten with an ugly stick in the light of day, but he's perfectly harmless, I promise!"

He started braying all over again, a sound that started strong, then gradually died away, when it dawned on him that he was the only one who was laughing, and the thought slowly crossed through his pea brain that no one seemed to appreciate his fun at my expense. I sure as hell knew that _I_ didn't welcome the sort of descriptive he'd placed on me, and it heartened me somewhat, to see the look of disbelief that was on Howard's face, and, even more, the look of outright outrage that was on Emma's.

"Look here, Brother Jack," Howard said, looping an arm around our baby brother's neck, his loud voice carrying easily across the way to where I was standing with Emma. "If my hound was half as ugly as you are, I'd have pity on him by shaving his hind end and teachin' him to walk backwards, so ya might wanna think twice before ya go about twittin' Forrest about his looks, don't cha think?"

I almost laughed, but I choked it back at the last minute, so it came out as a cough instead, but Emma let loose with a shameless rash of giggling, covering her mouth with one hand, while she clung tight to my fist, which she'd been holding the whole time, with the other. The sight of her dancing brown eyes lighting onto my face soothed any and all ruffled feathers that might have been raised by my brothers' jesting, not that I'd truly been all that out of sorts to begin with.

Jack seemed to be speechless, which was quite a feat, though he quickly found his voice when Howard tousled his hair, which he was so vain about, and dragged him back into the station, squawking like a hen and spitting like a cat the whole way. Things were considerably quieter, once the screen door slammed shut behind them, and I turned my attention to Emma, and, more directly, to the feel of her hand on my own.

She noticed what I was staring at, and I waited for her to pull away from me, but she turned her hand instead, linking us palm to palm. "You know that what they said isn't true, don't you?" she asked softly, her face taking on a real pretty shade of pink while she spoke to me. "You aren't ugly at all, Forrest."

I felt my chest grow tight, but not in a bad way. "Hmm…I'm not?" I mumbled, feeling awkward and out of place, wanting, more than anything, to link my fingers with hers, but I didn't dare to give into the urge. I knew that her being sweet to me didn't have one thing to do with anything other than common kindness. "Thank you…hmm…for saying so, Emma. I never really gave it much thought, and it…hmm…ain't no big deal, anyways, but I appreciate you…hmm….."

My abilities when it came to communicating were always limited in the best of times, but this was definitely one of those moments when I would have liked to have been blessed with the gift of gabbing like a silver-tongued devil. If that had been the case it would have dawned on me to say something clever out loud, but as it was I was drawing a blank, and was bound to do just that for a long time to come, and by the time a witty thought entered my mind it would be too late to say it out loud without looking like a simpleton, so I stumbled over my words instead.

"As a matter of fact, you're one of the most handsome men that I've ever laid eyes on," she said, pressing her palm more firmly against mine, and looking at me in a way that pleased me at the same time that it confused me. Why on earth would she be looking at me all wide-eyed and moony, unless she was smitten with…no, that couldn't be it, could it? I must have been imagining that look, because that was the way I wanted her to look at me, and not because there was even a remote chance of her being sweet on me, am I right?

"Hmm," I went to my old standard of making a noise when most people would have offered words, mostly because doing so made me more comfortable, and also because I had no idea what I ought to say. She'd paid me a nice compliment, much nicer than any I'd been given in a good long while, if ever, and I had no clue as to what I ought to say in return, though I did know that I ought to reply in some way that wasn't a groan or a growl or a grunt. "I am, huh?"

Oh, that was a stroke of brilliance, wasn't it? "Hmm…well, thanks." This was shaping up to be an exchange of words that was downright painful to experience, and then it dawned on me what I ought to say in return. "You're a very pretty woman, Emma," I said clearly, without a hint of a grunt or a growl. "As a matter of fact, you're the loveliest woman that I've ever seen in my whole life."

It was the truth, which was always a good thing, I suppose, but sometimes being honest was a dangerous thing as well, and I suspected that this might have been one of those times. I existed in the world, in my corner of it, and she did the same in hers. Our lives intersected with each other's five days out of the week, and those moments were happy ones for me, because she was so near, just like they were hellish, for the exact same reason, and there was always sadness when she left me. The one constant in all of those times was that the fact that I loved her was a secret, and for me to knowingly do, or, in this case, to say something that could threaten that comfortable routine was a stupid move on my part, to say the very least.

"Thank you, Forrest," she said in a way that might have been called shy, smiling at me in a way that made me glad to have broken my rule, no matter how foolhardy it might have been for me to do so. "I think that's the nicest thing that anyone's said to be in a long time, maybe even the nicest ever."

She ought to have someone telling her nice things every day, all day long, but then, if she did have someone doing that I'd be so damned jealous that I wouldn't be able to see straight, and that would be a hell of a mess, wouldn't it? I'd already had to suffer through seeing her married to one worthless son of a bitch once in my life, why would I want the torment of another one? The only acceptable way of that happening would be for her to marry me, but that was a longshot, wasn't it?

"Hmm…you're welcome," I mumbled, wondering what I could say next, something that would make it to where I could stay there with her, holding her hand, and then I remembered that all this had happened because I'd scared her while she was looking for me. "What was it that you needed me for?"

There was probably a better way that I could have approached the change in conversation, but I was a little frazzled, and that had been the first thing that had come into my mind for me to say. I always did better talking to people when I had time to form the words in my mind beforehand, but this was an on the fly, seat of my pants kind of thing, therefore I was doing as best as I could. Thankfully she didn't seem to be rattled by the switch, or, if she was, she hid it well.

"Well, it's a little awkward for me to ask you this, considering how much you've done for me already, and I know that you haven't got a day off tomorrow, like I do, but….."

"I've done what I have because I wanted to, so there's no need to worry about that," I told her, feeling foolishly abandoned when she turned loose of my hand. "And I'll be just fine tomorrow for what needs to be done, unless you're planning on working me 'til sunup."

In the back of my mind I realized that my words might be the type that would be taken in the wrong way, but if she had interpreted them in a way that I didn't intend she didn't let on to me that she had. "The thing is that I'm going to need a little help unloading my boxes out of the trunk tonight," she explained, looking ill-at-ease, despite the fact that I'd assured her that I didn't mind helping her with whatever favor she meant to ask. "Mr. Clayton from next door helped me fill the trunk this afternoon, but there won't be anyone to do so at the boarding house, and I'd hate to try to do it myself, in the dark. I suppose that's a little silly of me, but I'm not all that fond of being out for very long at night and….."

"Why are you taking a room at the boarding house?" I asked, thinking of the rooms there, and the sort of activities that went on behind those closed doors. "That ain't no kind of place for a lady."

I suppose that she could have told me that our station was no place for a lady as well, she would have been in the right if she'd told me to mind my own damned business, but she just blushed and said, "I don't have any close friends, no family, and very little in the way of funds, certainly not enough to rent a house, so really and truly, it was my only choice."

I knew that I'd embarrassed her, and I felt bad about that, but it really wasn't acceptable to me, the idea of her cramped up in one of those rooms, which was why my mind didn't fully evaluate each and every word that came out of my mouth. If it had been firmly in charge, it would have never allowed my heart to act in its stead, but once I opened my mouth the damage was done.

"Hmm…you could always stay here, with us, in the spare room upstairs. We've got plenty of room, Emma, and I'd feel a lot better knowing that you were safe at night. You'll have all the privacy that you want, the only one who'd run the risk of irritating you would be Jack, and it wouldn't take much to get him in line. Hmm…how does that sound to you?"

Her eyes widened, then brightened, then grew gloomy, all in the space of about five seconds. "I couldn't impose on your family any more than I already have….."

"Hmm…how would you be imposing, since I'm the one who made the offer?"

"I would love to stay here, but think of what people would say, if they were to find out….."

"You need to stop worrying about what the folks in town think or say, Emma. 'Sides which, those little ol' biddies in town need a new piece of gossip every now and then, don't they? It helps to keep their hearts pumping, don't it?"

She smiled, and her eyes brightened again, they looked happy and even a little bit eager. "I suppose they do, and it's not as though they don't talk about me already, but before I say yes I want to make certain that I'll pay you a good price for the room. We just need to work out the terms….."

"Hmm…there's no terms involved with accepting a gift, other than to take it. Now then, I'll go round up Howard and Jack and we'll have those boxes unloaded before you can count to ten, alright?"

I hurried off, well; I hurried in my own way, before she could argue with me, thinking to myself that this was shaping up to be one of the best days that I'd had in a long time. Emma was going to be under my roof each and every day, and I wouldn't have to suffer through a bunch of long, lonely nights anymore, because she'd be sleeping right down the hall from me…..

Aw, hell…..

Emma's POV

I was thirty years old, I had been married for three years, and I'd been a widow for ten years, and yet, after all of that, every earthly possession that I owned had fit very easily and neatly into the Bondurant boys' spare bedroom…could there be anything in existence that was sadder than the state of my life at that moment, laid out so starkly and harshly for me to acknowledge, because if there was, I hoped that the good Lord would reveal it to me, so that I might feel a little bit better about myself.

I was sitting at the vanity that Forrest had thoughtfully assembled for me from bits and pieces around the station, contemplating my face while I slowly brushed, then plaited my hair. I looked younger than my age, I might have even been able to pass for twenty-five in the right light, but life was swiftly passing me by, and I knew that the day would come when I would pass by this mirror and have the scare of my life, when I realized that I was fifty years old, still a widow, with no children, and undoubtedly pining for Forrest Bondurant…provided that he hadn't married long before that time and given me the boot, that is.

I tried not to read too much into Forrest's generous offer, or in the fact that he'd spent a good amount of time holding my hand earlier in the day. It was kindness, pure and simple, that had encouraged him to lend me a helping hand… a big, rough, masculine hand that had been pressed so intimately against mine…and nothing more. It didn't matter what I thought that I'd seen in his eyes for just a moment, because the sad truth was that he'd never love me the way that I loved him, and the quicker I accepted that cold bit of truth, the better off that I would be.

It appeared to be good, sound advice, didn't it? That's why it was such a shame to know that I had no intention of listening to it anytime soon. I'd always been one who loved to dream, even now, as a grown woman who'd long ago left her younger days behind. That was why I couldn't give up on the hopes that I had for me and Forrest. They might never come to fruition, truthfully they would probably never be realized, but was there really any harm to be had in letting my heart imagine what I wanted most in the world?

I was lost in my reveries, in my dreams and my longings, so the gentle knock on my door startled me, enough so that I almost let loose with another screech, but thankfully I stifled the sound before I could embarrass myself all over again. The clock on my dresser top said that the hour of midnight was almost upon me, which meant that it was very late for company, especially with me being already dressed for bed, but I tightened the belt on my robe none the less, to ensure that I was properly covered and turned in my chair, toward the door.

"Who is it?" I called, thinking of three possibilities, one in particular, who held a good deal more appeal than the others.

"It's Forrest," came his voice through the door, making a shiver unlike any I'd ever felt before course through me. "Could I come in for just a minute, Emma?"

A jumble of thoughts raced through my mind, most of which said that it wouldn't be fitting at all, to allow him to come into my room when I was already dressed for bed, but I reckoned that a little boldness wasn't going to hurt me much, given all that I'd already displayed that day. Besides which, what better way to prepare for a good night of dreams than to fill my eyes with the sight of him, my ears with the sound of him, and my nose with his scent before I went to sleep?

"Come on in, Forrest," I called, hoping that he wouldn't hear the nervousness, and the eagerness, that was in my voice.

He slowly opened the door and stepped in the room, and his eyes widened for just a moment, before he coughed, and then cleared his throat. I would imagine that it was a sight that he was unaccustomed to, a woman in her bathrobe, all ready for bed, but he recovered quickly enough and held up his hands and showed me the quilt that he was holding between them.

"Hmm…it tends to get a little chilly during the night, and I thought that you could probably use another blanket," he explained, crossing the room and placing the worn looking quilt on the bed that had been theirs, and was now mine. "Is there…hmm…anything else that I can get for you before I turn in, Emma?"

Oh, Lord…there were plenty of things that he could provide me with, I could give him a list that went on and on, and contained things such as a kiss, a hug, tucking me into bed, snuggling beside me in the bed, telling me that he loved me…suffice it to say that there was a good deal that I could have requested, but none of those things were of the proper sort, so I filed them away, to review in my dreams, where I could do as I damn well pleased.

"No, thank you, Forrest, I'm all set."

It was a lie, of course, but what else could I say? For a moment I thought that I saw a tiny hint of disappointment in his eyes, but then it was gone, and he made his way back across the room and stood for just a moment in the doorway, starting to speak, then stopping, and finally, as he was leaving, he nodded at me and almost smiled.

"Good night then," he murmured, pulling the door closed behind him. "Pleasant dreams, Emma."

"You too, Forrest," I replied, even though he'd already left me. There was no doubt in my mind that my dreams would be the pleasant sort, if they weren't too busy driving me out of my mind with frustrated longing, that is.

Aw, hell…this was shaping up to be a very long night.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Emma's POV

The sunlight streaming in through my bedroom window woke me, paired with the melodic calling of a sparrow, which made me smile, in spite of the fact that I wasn't a morning person, and I slowly rolled over onto my back and languorously stretched out my body, in the manner of a lazy cat, feeling more rested and relaxed than I had in a good long while. It took me a moment to remember that I was at Blackwater Station, and not in my narrow bed at the Hayes', and I was in the midst of thinking to myself that it would be nice to cook breakfast for three strapping men, when I happened to glance at the clock that rested on the dresser top, and promptly leapt from the bed as if it had suddenly caught fire beneath me.

Holy Moses…it was nine in the morning, and I'd just about slept the day away like a woman who had the presumption to believe that she'd be waited on hand and foot. I couldn't remember the last time that I'd finished my morning ablutions so quickly, but ten minutes later I was scrubbed and polished, garbed in my finest dress, with every hair in its place and a soft touch of cosmetics on my face, and then all that I had to do was make my bed before I headed downstairs to see if I could still salvage my hopes of cooking for the boys, but they were nowhere to be seen.

I had a moment to feel disappointed, and ashamed of myself, before my nose caught hold of the scent that filled the air, which told me that there'd been at least one in residence who hadn't acted like slothful, no-account person that morning, truth be told, there'd probably been three who hadn't, and I turned toward the counter, to the stove that rested behind it, and saw a coffee pot and covered plate waiting for me on its surface.

The coffee pot was warm to the touch, and probably held at least two cups. I wasn't overly fond of the beverage, but I would drink it anyway, since someone, Forrest, I hoped, had been considerate enough to leave it behind for me. I poured a cupful, and laced it liberally with sugar, then pulled back the towel that had been fashioned from a flour sack away from my plate of breakfast, my eyes widening with surprise and an appreciative smile curving my lips at the feast that awaited me.

I wouldn't have expected much from a houseful of menfolk, which was why I was shocked, pleasantly so, to see the short stack of hotcakes, covered with a sheen of butter and maple syrup, with a side of bacon, two fried eggs and a pile of home fries. A girl could get roly-poly, living around the Bondurant boys, but I wasn't about to make a habit of being waited on or catered to, so there was no need for me to worry about fighting an expanding waistline…not that I didn't mean to take full advantage just this one time, of course.

I had been disappointed that the boys, especially Forrest, of course, had already left when I first came downstairs, but as I made my way to the bar, with my nose hovering over the plate that I held in my right hand and my coffee cup gripped in my left, I knew that it was best that they weren't there to witness me making a fool of myself. I took a seat on one of the stools, and indulged in one final sniff of appreciation, then tucked my napkin in the neckline of my dress and readied myself, knife and fork gripped tightly in my fists, for the first taste of what promised to be delicious, sinfully so, as a matter of fact.

I was determined to conduct myself as a lady, no matter that I was there by myself, and undoubtedly would be for the rest of the day, but the first bite of hotcake unnerved me, and the nibble of bacon that followed ruined each and every one of my good intentions, and before I knew it I was plowing my way through my breakfast with all of the charm and finesse of an ill-mannered farm hand. I was in culinary heaven at that moment, and might have continued to gobble down my food like a starving woman, had it not been for the sound of a discreetly cleared throat coming from behind me.

Saints above, I might have known that I'd get caught in the act. I reckon that it was to be expected, since I'd completely disregarded my manners, but what I hadn't expected was to suck a mouthful of food back into my windpipe, cutting off my supply of air. I always panicked in moments like these, when common sense told me that I ought to remain calm, but apparently I was not the only one who did so. I started to stumble down off of my stool, but the one who'd cleared his throat reached me first, bodily removing me from my seat and tossing me over his shoulder while he pounded on my back with enough force to rattle my bones in their sockets.

It was funny, in a way that wasn't the least bit funny, that Forrest had come along to save me, when I'd assumed that he was gone. This wasn't the first time that he'd aided me while I was choking, but this time was much worse, because it wasn't just coffee that had me hacking and clawing for a breath of air. I had reason to offer a word of thanks to the Almighty, that there'd been someone nearby to save me, because I undoubtedly would have choked to death if Forrest hadn't been there, but it was a little difficult to feel grateful, considering that I'd made one hell of a mess on the floor and thoroughly humiliated myself in the process.

"That's all there is to bring up, Forrest!" I tried to holler, and ended up croaking instead, which was a sound that only added to my embarrassment. "You keep pounding on me that way you're liable to break one of my bones, and the only thing left for me to cast up is my shoes!"

I thought that I might have heard him chuckle, but it had to have been my imagination, given the way that his eyes were smoldering with anger when he looked down at me, after he'd lowered me to stand on my feet. His jaw was set, and a muscle there seemed to bulge out, then in, every other second, kind of like a heartbeat. There was a thoroughly nauseating smell rising from the floor, and I was grateful for the offer of his handkerchief, which I hastily put to work, cleaning my mouth.

"I'm so sorry, Forrest," I said, once I was certain that I was at least partially presentable. "I made such an awful mess, after you left things so nice and neat, and I spoiled my breakfast, after someone went through so much….."

"What would you have done if I hadn't come in to check on you?" he interrupted, taking a deep breath, which he automatically regretted, then released it in a growl. "I can tell you what you would have done. You would have choked to death, and there wouldn't have been a soul around to pound on your back, would there've been?"

He was angry, that much was clear and understandable as well, but what wasn't as obvious and certainly not comprehensible was why he was mad at _me_. I could understand him getting his nose out of joint over the stinking mess I'd made, and the fact that I'd wasted my food, but how did that work out to him getting all snippy with me, for goodness' sake?

"I think that we're both in agreement about what I would have done, so there's no reason why we should stand around talking about it, is there?" I asked, moving away from him with the intent of rounding up a mop and pail, to clean up the mess off of the floor, but he reached out and took hold of my hand before I could move away from him.

"I need to clean this up before it gets set into the floor," I explained, my temper flaring over the fact that I felt the need to justify my actions to him, then flamed when he refused to loosen his grip on me. "I'm capable of many things, Forrest, but cleaning up a mess of this size with one hand is a tad bit beyond my abilities, so why don't you do us both a favor and turn me loose."

His hold on my hand tightened, but not in a way that was painful. It was still more of a caress than anything else, and there was an air of possessiveness that I could feel as well, and that confused me, to tell the truth, it downright befuddled me. I could see that he would view me in a protective light because I was a part of his household, which would mean that he'd be concerned for my wellbeing, but that still didn't explain why he was holding my hand, at least not in my mind it didn't.

"Hmm…I want you to be more careful, Emma," he said softly, turning his hand, so that he could link his fingers with mine, joining our hands, one palm to the other. "All I could think of was what might have happened if I'd been gone, and that, hmm…is something that is unacceptable to me, so don't do it again, alright?"

It wasn't the best apology that I'd ever heard, but he could have been spouting gibberish and I wouldn't have cared in the least. I was floating by that time, I felt like I was glowing, and all because he was holding my hand. That probably made me one of, if not _the_ biggest ninny in the history of mankind, but at that moment I was oblivious to anything that didn't involve his hand, so rough and warm and masculine against my own, or his eyes, which were slowly, but surely growing calm, and his lips that were downright sinful in appearance, and would undoubtedly feel absolutely sublime, pressed up against mine in a kiss.

Wonderful…now I was blushing, so much so that it felt like my face was on fire, and he kept staring at me, inching his face nearer and nearer to mine, as if he meant to whisper something in my ear, when suddenly the screen door opened, and banged against the wall, and quick as a flash we moved away from each other, and it was surprising to me how empty my hand felt, once his was gone.

"Are you about ready, Forrest?" Jack's voice boomed throughout the room, and made his brother growl. "Howard's already waitin' in the truck and…aw, shit…what the hell is that smell?"

His eyes met mine, and he blushed, then they dropped to the floor and his face blanched and he abruptly did an about-face and made his way outside just as fast as his feet could take him. That was just dandy, now I knew that he'd be outside, gossiping with Howard, like a couple of old women, and more likely than not, I'd be on the receiving end of plenty of jokes before the night was out.

"Well, you'd better get going," I said, smiling at him, even though I felt like crying. "I know you've got work to do, and I've got a mess to clean up….."

"I can lend you a hand before I go," he offered, but I shook my head, refusing his offer before he could continue, because I knew that there was no way that my pride would allow me to work with him, side by side, cleaning up my vomit off of the floor. I could bear a great deal, but that was just asking way too much of my dignity.

"Be careful," I said, gently turning him toward the door. "And please pass along my thanks to whoever it was that fixed my breakfast for me. I truly loved each and every bite, before I brought it up for a second look, and that shouldn't be taken as an insult either, I just got choked, that's all."

He made one of his sounds, and stared at the floor, thankfully his gaze didn't light upon any of the mess, and then he looked at me and nodded. "Hmm…enjoy your day, Emma," he murmured. "I'm glad to know that you enjoyed the vittles, even if they didn't stay down. I wasn't certain what you'd prefer to eat, so I went ahead and gave you a little of everything. Given the way you were gulping down before you choked, I'd say that I was definitely successful with my efforts. Hmm…that's good to know."

I realized then, as he walked away from me, that I'd been mistaken to think that I'd been blushing earlier. _This_ was what a true blush felt like, and I welcomed it, as penance for my gluttony, though, when I thought things through, it seemed to me that cleaning up the vomit off of the floor was enough of an atonement in itself, wouldn't you agree?

Forrest's POV

I stood outside the front door, off to the side, so that Emma wouldn't see me, and did my best to work up the courage to open the door and walk inside. I watched her from the window, and knew that she'd heard the truck drive up, because she kept glancing over her shoulder, toward the door, her book forgotten on the counter as she waited for someone to step inside. I knew that I'd have to go in sooner or later, but I didn't want to, not in the condition that I was in.

Our run had been pretty average, for the most part, but it dawned on me, standing hidden on the porch, with a trail of blood making its way from the cut in my scalp down to my chin, that what was run-of-the-mill for me was bound to be a tad bit disconcerting for someone like Emma. She was bound to get upset, seeing me this way, but, on the other hand, she would undoubtedly feel obliged to bandage me up, since both Howard and Jack had chosen to abandon me for the rest of the evening, to seek out their own pursuits, and she was bound to be a better nurse than either one of my brothers would have been.

I'd stupidly settled my mind on the notion that she'd make a fuss over me, and walked inside, with visions of a friendly and loving nursemaid filling my mind, but I knew that I'd made a potentially fatal mistake the moment her eyes lighted upon me. Her face had been friendly and inviting for just a second, then her eyes narrowed, and a downright hostile look took hold of her face, and a sinking feeling came over me. The screen door slammed shut behind me, bouncing off my hind end, and I had a strong desire to flee, to save myself, but it was too late to run, now that she had spotted me.

"What in hell happened to you, Forrest!" she exclaimed, teetering and tottering while she made her way off of her stool, making my breath catch in my throat when she almost lost her balance. "Why are you bleeding?"

There was a healthy amount of concern in her voice, the sort that I'd been hoping to hear, but there was a fair dose of anger as well, though I couldn't understand why she'd be upset with me. It wasn't as though I'd set out on the run with the intention of having a jar of shine smacked against my head, I'd never have done something so stupid on purpose, but apparently I was going to be chastised none the less.

"Hmm…it ain't as bad as it looks, Emma," I said, wincing when she pulled out a chair from under one of the tables, and slid it across the floor, slamming it down right beside me. "Head wounds always bleed out like you're dyin', but there truly ain't no reason for you to get all het up. I'll, hmm, get it cleaned up in a jiffy….."

"Take a seat, Forrest," she commanded in a no-nonsense tone that warned me that I'd damn sure regret it if I so much as took one step in a direction that was anywhere but toward the chair. "You might be able to wash yourself up just fine, but I don't think that you'd be too successful stitching your wound by yourself, would you?"

I might have pointed out to her that I'd stitched myself up plenty of times, but I'd never been addle minded at any point in my life, and I wasn't about to take up the habit. I took the seat, just like she'd told me to, and watched her move throughout the dining room like a cyclone, collecting all of the supplies that she'd need to patch me up, wincing all over again when she slammed everything down on another chair that she'd collected.

It was probably folly to question her, I knew that, without a shadow of a doubt, which was why I kept my mouth shut, but there was a part of me that worried about the treatment that I was about to receive, given the obvious hostility in each and every move that she made. Pain was something that was to be expected while she stitched me up, but how badly would she hurt me while she helped me, if all of her movements were born out of anger?

"Oh, Forrest, look at you," she muttered, her voice taking an a softer, and noticeably kinder tone when her hands touched me, hesitantly and gently, smoothing back my hair, moving it away from the wound that rested right below my hairline. "How did this happen?"

Her hands on me felt nice, hell, they felt wonderful, and for one moment I almost moved my head against her like a hound begging for a scratch behind his ears, but thankfully I managed to stop before I embarrassed myself. "Hmm…just a little haggling quarrel that resulted in me catching a jar with the side of my head, that's all" I said, thinking back to Stump Howe, a sawed-off runt who was always looking for a way to save some money. I don't know what he did with all that he saved, because he had no car, his house looked like it was held together with spit and a prayer, and his wife and ten kids looked like they hadn't had a decent meal in ages, if ever. He somehow managed to scrape together the funds for a couple jars of shine, though he bitched and moaned the whole time about price, and today had been no exception, though our transaction hadn't gone quite as smoothly as it normally would have.

"A quarrel over price resulted in your scalp being lacerated?" she asked incredulously. "I can't imagine someone wanting a bargain bad enough to draw blood in the hopes of saving a nickel."

There was a lot that she'd been shielded from in her life, wasn't she? I was lost in the feel of her soft, warm fingertips, and had started to relax, but stiffened in a hurry when I felt the first probing touch that she applied to my wound. I imagine that she was searching out any glass that might have been hiding in the cut, and she kept her touch gentle, but it still hurt like hell, and I was glad when she moved her fingertips away from my torn flesh, or, at least, I _was_, until she opened up the jar of shine that she'd gathered with her supplies, and doused my wound with its contents.

Once again I was tempted to make a noise that a hound would make, only this time it would be a shrill howl, but I kept the sound bottled up inside, and made do with a grunt of pain instead. I'd learned the importance of silence a long time ago, and I wasn't about to give in to the urge to whine like a baby just because I felt a little bit of discomfort. That being said, I certainly enjoyed her babying me when she noticed that my wound was smarting, but there was no shame in feeling coddled, as long as I didn't make a habit of it, was there?

"Hmm…Stump Howe ain't been tendin' his family or his place the way he ought to," I said, closing my eyes while she swabbed my injury, readying it for the needle that she was soaking in a saucer filled with ruckus juice. "I told him I'd be happy to knock the price down by half, just as soon as he saw to it that their living conditions improved. Ol' Stump, he's got more pride than a man ought to have, and needless to say, he didn't react favorably to my offer, and countered by whackin' me up the side of my head with a jar that he grabbed off the back of the truck."

"Land sakes," she said in a tone filled with disbelief, and I peeked through one eye and saw that she was shaking her head, with her pretty lips pursed up, while she threaded the needle that she'd fetched from its bath of shine. "What will become of him? Surely he won't be allowed to get away with hurting you, will he?"

I almost smiled then, I felt the corners of my mouth curling upward, but then she went to work with her needle, and I lost the urge to grin in an all fire hurry. Howard had dropped Stump like a ton of bricks after he whacked me, with a punch that the drunkard would feel for days to come, and I reckoned that was enough payback for the cut that he'd given me, but I wasn't about to tell Emma that.

"Spending a day or two sober will be hell for him, and that's enough for me," I told her, gritting my teeth against the feel of the needle as it pierced, and traveled through my flesh. "'Sides which, it don't hurt too much….."

She stopped in her task, and waited until I took another peek at her, then bent down and pressed her lips against my flesh, right beneath my wound. My heart froze in its rhythm for just a moment, and then went back to hammering and flopping about in my chest like a fresh caught catfish. I could feel my face heating up, and knew that I was making a fool of myself, blushing like a little girl, but it was something that I'd dreamed of for years, to feel her lips pressed up against me, and I was going to enjoy every second of it, and not worry about whether or not I was making a spectacle of myself.

"Did that help with the hurt?" she asked softly, moving back to smile at me, and I felt the corner of my mouth lift, just the tiniest bit, in response. "Or do you need another?"

Aw, hell…I couldn't answer her. My ability to speak had gone the way of the dodo bird, not that I had ever been one who was known for my speaking abilities anyway. I made do with staring at her instead, knowing that I was acting like a fool, but helpless to do anything about it. Thankfully she didn't take offense, and kissed me again, this time on my cheek, and I forgot all about my cut, and the needle that was still threaded through my flesh, and concentrated all of my attention on the softness of her lips, and her smell, as she moved closer to me.

"And maybe, just one more, hmm?" she whispered, moving toward me, her eyes fluttering closed, an action that I mimicked, holding my breath, reveling in the warmth of her breath on my lips…and then the damned door opened, and the spell was broken as she leapt back away from me, her face turning bright red, and her hand, which had been resting on my forehead, jerking and pulling the needle loose.

"Oops," Jack said, trying to back out of the door, and running smack-dab into Howard, who was hovering behind him with a stupid grin on his face. "This is a bad time, isn't it?"

I was bleeding anew, the gash in my head was worse than it had been, I had almost been kissed by Emma on my lips, and would probably never get another chance for that opportunity…a 'bad time' didn't even begin to cover it, wouldn't you agree?


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Forrest's POV

Back when we were younger, when Emma Cantrell was still Emma Tyler, she'd made a pie just for me, a chocolate cream pie that I'd had all to myself, all because I'd placed the winning bet when her number had been called. The wagering had grown a mite bit steep, with the price climbing all the way up to a dollar and a half and then on and on, but I'd saved up every last penny I had, and I'd walked away with the prize, and with pockets that were three dollars lighter than they had been, and looking back now, twenty years later, I knew that the money I'd turned loose of that day was the best that I'd ever spent.

I'd admired her from afar since I was twelve and she was eleven, and after that night, sitting there on Nan Roland's front porch, sharing that pie, I'd studied long and hard on the idea of asking her to be my girl, but my nerves had always got the best of me and tied my tongue into knots. She'd been thirteen then, and I'd tried to work my courage up while the years passed us by, then she'd turned seventeen and married that halfwit Walton Cantrell and I'd figured that she was lost to me forever, but now he was dead, had been for ten years, and once more I found myself thinking on courting her, but wouldn't you know that my damned nerves were getting the best of me all over again.

That was why I found myself standing on the front porch of my station, clutching a bouquet of wildflowers in my hand, and doing my damnedest to work up the courage to walk inside and present them to her. I was determined that I wouldn't let my nervousness stop me this time, no more than I would let the fact that she might refuse me deter me from asking to court her, but what I wouldn't give for a boost of confidence at that moment, not to mention a mouth that worked properly and didn't mutter or stammer or grunt and growl, but it was a mite bit late to go wishing on things that were beyond my reach, wasn't it?

I'd just about worked up the courage that I'd need to step inside when I heard a voice coming from the direction of the bar, a voice that I didn't immediately recognize, but which I knew I'd heard before, a long time ago. I sidled up to the door and peeked inside and observed the stranger for a spell, before I turned my attention to Emma, who clearly knew, and disliked, the man, given the way that she was looking at him in a manner that one might employ when they found a cockroach buried in the depths of their oatmeal…after they'd eaten half of it already.

"It's been so long since you've communicated with Mother and I, Emma, we'd began to suspect that you'd forgotten all about us, after Walton passed. Why is that, sugar? Why didn't you tell us that you were in such dire straits?"

Now I remembered him…and I hated him. Walton Cantrell had been one of the stupidest men to ever wander about on God's green earth, but he'd been harmless, for the most part. The same could not be said for his elder brother, Willard, and certainly not for the old hag who'd birthed both of them. Rumor had it that the biddy had lined up all four of Willard's marriages for him and paid handsomely out of pocket to convince each and every one of his brides to marry him, and just as richly to have them offed after a year or two passed by without them finding themselves in the family way.

Willard had always been that kid that liked to bully and boss everyone who was smaller than him in one way or another. He was the one who'd liked to tie firecrackers to the tails of any dog or cat that was unfortunate enough to cross his path, and now he was trying his bullying and bossing on Emma, and I'd be damned if I was going to stand for that. I was going to march inside and set him straight, all in the hopes that he would give me an excuse to cave his head in for him, but I hadn't taken more than a step before I saw, and heard, that Emma didn't really need my help to stand her ground.

"Why would I bother to communicate with you or your mother, Mr. Cantrell?" she asked frostily. "If memory serves, neither one of you ever made any effort whatsoever to welcome me to your family at any time. As a matter of fact, I can recall several instances when you both went out of your way to show me that your opinion of me was very low, and that I would never belong, in any way, shape or form, to your family. That being said, why on earth would either one of you give a tinker's damn about my 'dire straits', if you please, when you so obviously wished me gone when I married Walton?"

"That's my girl," I whispered, allowing a rare smile to curve my lips when I saw that Cantrell was puffing up like an old toad. This show was working wonders for my nerves, and on top of all of that, it was providing me with the opportunity to laugh, even if I only did so to myself. Lord knows that laughs were a rare thing for me these days, as a matter of fact I couldn't remember how much time had passed since I'd really been tickled, but this was shaping up to be one of those times, and I was determined to enjoy each and every moment of it.

"There's really no need for such coarse language, Emma," he scolded, and I found myself smiling all over again when I saw the way that she was curving her lip in disgust at him. His type were always hypocrites about things like 'coarse language' and drinking liquor, when they were in full view of the eye of the public, when you knew good and well that they were regular sinful folk behind closed doors, as a matter of fact, they'd probably put most of the people that they claimed to disdain to shame where wicked behavior was concerned.

"There was never a time in my life, even when Walton was still with us, that I would have allowed you or your mother to dictate to me how I ought to behave, and what I ought to say, think or do, and I sure as _hell_ won't stand for it now, Willard Cantrell. I think that I've heard all from you that I need to, so I'll thank you to leave now, and to never darken my door with your presence again….."

"But this isn't _your_ door, is it, Emma?" he said, moving off of his stool, to make his way around the bar, toward her, his face red, with a vein bulging nastily in his forehead. "Mother and I were dismayed when we heard the news that you'd gone to work at this… _place_, but to know that you'd actually stooped so low as to move into this den of iniquity, to live amongst three disreputable men was shocking, to say the very least. Have you no concern whatsoever for your reputation? Have you no respect at all for the memory of your late husband, not to mention his family?"

He reached out a hand, almost touching her, but she stopped him by slapping it away. "This _is_ my front door now, Mr. Cantrell," she hissed, planting her feet and refusing to back away from him, even though he continued to move closer and closer to her. "And where I work, and who I live with, is none of your damned business. I could care less what you or your horrible mother think of me, and I don't have to defend my actions to either one of you, nor do I have to do so to the self-righteous, narrow-minded hypocrites who've chosen to whisper tales about me behind my back. I know what sort of woman I am, Mr. Cantrell, and I know that I am a….."

"Whore," he said, smiling triumphantly, for just an instant, until her palm connected with his cheek with shocking force and a sound that was similar to the crack of lightning during a thunderstorm. His head whipped around, his glasses were knocked askew, and when he regained his footing he balled his fist, in preparation for hitting her back, which he might have done, had I not been nearby.

I moved pretty slow most of the time, but this wasn't one of those times. I made it through the door, throwing it open with enough force that I damn near pulled it loose on its hinges, crossed the floor and made my way around the bar lickety-split, arriving just in time to catch Cantrell's fist before it could make contact with Emma's cheek. I wished that there could have been a photographer there at that moment, because it undoubtedly would have made for an interesting picture, the sight of me holding onto Willard Cantrell's fist with one hand, and a bouquet of posies with the other, with what had to have been purely murderous intent clear on my face.

"I think that what you meant to say was _lady_, isn't that right, Mr. Cantrell?" I asked, squeezing his fist until he let loose with a grunt of pain, followed by a whimper, refusing to let up on him until he nodded frantically. "Because Emma is a fine, honorable lady, and the idea that you would malign her good name is a crime in itself, and that, paired with the fact that you were going to hit her, makes for a verdict that calls for me to mete out an appropriate sentence that ain't likely to sit well with a pasty fatassed son of a bitch like you, but before you bother to complain, remember that you asked me to do so the moment you raised your fist against her."

He was a born coward, any man who would hit a woman was gutless and spineless, in my opinion, and when it dawned on him that he was just about to be on the receiving end of a beating by a man who was ready, willing and more than able to rearrange his face and each and every bone in his body he started to shake uncontrollably, and to sweat, and finally, the most satisfying thing of all, was that he was reduced to begging me for mercy.

"It was a mistake, please don't hurt me," he whimpered, turning wide, fearful eyes to his former sister-in-law. "I'm sorry, Emma. I never set out to hurt you. Please don't let him do this. Please have mercy and tell him to stop this before it goes too far….."

"I reckon you've needed a good beating in the worst way since you hit puberty, Mr. Cantrell," she said matter-of-factly, and I almost smiled when his bottom lip started trembling, but I bit it back, because I wanted to make sure that he believed me to be a pitiless, coldhearted son of a bitch, the second cousin of Satan himself, who wouldn't hesitate to flatten him completely and paint my walls red with his blood. "And Mr. Bondurant isn't my dog, which means that there's no choke chain for me to tug on, to bring him under control. That being said, I will appeal with him to let you go, but not for your sake. I could care less about what happens to you, but I don't want to see him punished, no matter how satisfying it would be to see him you squash you like a roach."

I calmly placed the flowers that I'd picked for her on the bar, and ran my freed hand into my pocket, my fingertips tracing over the knuckles that would reinforce the power that resided in my own fist. "No, I ain't a dog of any sort, Cantrell, and I got a powerful need to give you that beating, no matter how much she asks me to leave you be."

"There's no need for that, Forrest," Emma said quietly, moving toward me, to run her hand over mine, over the one that was still latched onto Cantrell's fist and slowly, little by little, was breaking the bones in his fingers. "I believe that he's already learned his lesson…wouldn't you agree, Howard?"

My head lifted, and I caught sight of my brother in the open doorway, watching the scene unfold with a smile on his face. He was a lumbering giant who made too much noise most days, but he could move soundlessly when he wanted to. This proved to be one of those times, and I wondered how long he'd been standing there, watching and waiting for the moment to arrive that I needed him, _if_ I had needed him.

"Well, there wouldn't be no harm in him straightenin' ol' Cantrell out good 'n proper, Miss Emma, but yep, I reckon that he's learnt his lesson well enough," he said lazily, his smile growing by leaps and bounds when Wilbur turned his fear filled, pleading eyes in his direction. "Why don't ya let me follow him outta town, Forrest, jus' to make sure that he don't forget what he's learned, while you tend to Miss Emma, and give her those posies that ya collected for her, alright?"

Emma's eyes turned toward the bar, and landed on the flowers, which were looking downright raggedy by that point. "Please, Forrest," she whispered, moving her gaze from the bouquet to my eyes, rubbing her hand over mine, until I couldn't help but loosen my hold on Cantrell. "Please let him go, for me, please?"

Aw, hell. There wasn't anything that I could deny her, not when she looked at me that way, not when her voice took on that soft, pleading sound, and certainly not when she was touching me the way that she was. God knows that I wanted to pummel Cantrell into the ground, God knows that he needed a beating worse than anyone else that I could think of at that moment, but she didn't want me to do it, and that the only excuse that I needed to keep myself under control.

"Hmm…you do that, Howard, you make sure that he leaves this place and never looks back," I said, reluctantly taking my eyes from Emma, to address my brother, and then I turned my attention to Wilbur, and slowly released my hold on him, feeling a surge of satisfaction while I watched him grasp hold of his fist, bending at the knee and whimpering while he ran his fingertips over his aching bones. "And you, Mr. Cantrell, bear in mind that this is just a taste of what I'll give you, if you ever think about paying Emma another visit, you catch my drift?"

He nodded frantically and practically ran outside to jump into his car, which made a screeching sound as he roared away, swerving and skidding and kicking up dust while he fled, followed closely by Howard, hopefully never to be seen again, though it wouldn't hurt my feelings if he was to make his way back so that I could give him the ass-whipping that he so desperately deserved.

It was strange, that I'd managed to do all of that, without a hint of the nerves that had been haunting me all day, but now that it was just me and Emma they returned with a vengeance, and I cursed beneath my breath when I went to pick up the flowers off of the bar, gathering them into a bouquet that I could offer her, because I knew that I wouldn't be able to ask her anything now, not when it felt like there was a dog fight taking place in my gut.

"Are those for me?" she asked quietly, and somehow, someway, I managed to make myself turn toward her, and my ability to speak failed me, just like I'd known it would, when I saw that she was still smiling at me in that way that caught hold of me right in the center of my chest.

"Hmm…yes, for you," I answered, forcing myself to take a deep breath, then I handed them to her. "Hmm…what I mean to say is that, yes, I picked them for you. They ain't much to look at, but I thought that they might look pretty on top of your bureau, that is, hmm, if you like them, that is."

She took them from my hand, running her fingertips over mine as she did. "I love them, Forrest, they're beautiful, and yes, they will look mighty fine on top of my dresser."

She clutched them in her hand, and I was sure that the moment had passed, that it would be one that I could look back on, and dream about, but I hadn't realized that there was so much more in store for me, an instant that I would replay in my mind, over and over again, not just tonight, lying on my bed, but all throughout the day as well.

She moved close to me and placed her hand on my chest, right over the spot where my heart was pounding away like a drum, and raised up onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to my cheek. It was over in an instant, but that didn't matter, because I would feel it all day, I would still feel the touch of her lips and her hand, the warmth and the softness of her, hell, it might be that she'd marked me for good, but I wasn't likely to complain anytime soon.

"Thank you, Forrest," she whispered, raising her hand from my chest to my cheek, to the spot that she'd kissed. "Thank you…for everything."

Emma's POV

His eyes had followed me all night long. It was something that he'd done plenty of times before, but this was the first time that he'd done so and not bothered to attempt to hide the fact. I wasn't bothered by his staring, truth be told, I loved it, but I couldn't help but obsess over my every move, lest I do something foolish, which would embarrass me.

Today wasn't the first time that he'd come to my rescue, but it had been the first time that I'd realized the depth of his fondness for me. It was obvious now that he cared, a great deal, I'd be willing to wager, and for the first time in my life I allowed myself to truly entertain the notion that he might think of me in the same way that I thought of him. There had been possessiveness toward me in his gaze, in his tone, and his movements this afternoon…and he'd picked flowers for me, a bouquet that I'd placed in the nicest tin can that I could find, lovingly arranged and placed on top of my dresser, just as he'd suggested. Why would he have done such a thing, unless he was sweet on me?

Closing time came and went, taking with it the few customers who'd lingered to play cards and sip some shine and Howard and Jack had both gone out for the night as well, leaving me and Forrest alone by the bar, with the radio softly playing behind us. Standing this close I could see that there was a purpose in his eyes, a look that made my heart beat faster, but I could also see that he was fighting against that intent, not because he wanted to, but because he felt that he had to, and I knew that it would be up to me to bring it out into the light.

Jimmie Rodgers and his _Muleskinner's Blues_ were winding down to a close on the radio, and I impulsively reached out and took hold of Forrest's hand. I smiled when he tightened his hold, when he twined my fingers with his own, but he didn't pull me closer, as I'd hoped he would, he didn't take me into his arms, he stared at our hands instead, and I knew that further boldness on my part was necessary if we were ever going to move beyond this point.

"Will you dance with me, Forrest?" I asked, pulling him out, toward the space that rested between the table and chairs and the bar. "I like to dance, and it's been a long time since I had someone twirl me 'round and 'round."

He cleared his throat, once, then twice, and muttered something unintelligible, and then he finally raised his eyes and looked at me. "Hmm…I'm not much of a dancer," he said softly. "But I'm willing to give it a whirl, if it'll make you happy."

For a moment we stood still, staring at each other, and then he took a deep breath and slipped his hand around my waist, spanning its warmth on the small of my back, while his other hand took hold of one of mine, and he waited for me to rest the other one on his shoulder. The song on the radio had switched to _In the Pines_, which certainly wasn't the most romantic of tunes, but it would work just fine, and we hesitantly started to move about on the floor.

"I think that you've been holding out on me, haven't you, Forrest Bondurant?" I said teasingly, in the hopes of making him smile, and wonder of wonders, the corner of his mouth curled just the tiniest bit. "It's obvious to me that you are a very good dancer. Why would you say that you are no good at something, when it's evident that you're more than just good….?"

He stared down at me, and then pulled me closer in his arms, just as I'd wanted him to. "I never wanted to dance with anyone else," he whispered, moving his face, so that his mouth rested on my hairline, where he softly pressed his lips, making my heartbeat stutter, then stop, only to start up again in a furious rhythm. "I just wanted to dance with you."

There was a moment of silence that filled the room, blocking out everything, even the radio, and it seemed that he was holding his breath while he waited to see what my reaction to his words would be. I knew that it was terribly bold of me, but I just couldn't help myself, I had to move my hand off of his shoulder, sliding it up, to rest at the base of his neck, while I looked up and lost myself in his pretty green eyes.

"I never wanted anyone else either, Forrest," I whispered, feeling my lips tremble as his breath came back to him in a rush. "I've always wanted you."

My nerves were starting to get the best of me, I could feel butterflies fluttering around in my tummy, and I wondered where I'd find the courage or the boldness for what I wanted to do next, but in the end I didn't have to worry about it, because he took my face in his hands, and smiled down at me, the first genuine smile that I'd seen from him in years, if ever, and then he closed his eyes and lowered his lips to mine, kissing me softly and gently and almost reverently.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Emma's POV

I had the strangest sensation that I was being watched, which in itself would have been unsettling, considering that I didn't know who it was that was studying me, and also because I was, or, rather, I _had_ been asleep. I fought against the urge to open my eyes, because I didn't want the one who was watching me to know that I was aware of their presence, and I strove to lay as still as possible, and to quiet the hammering pace of my heartbeat, and I did an admirable job, in my own opinion, at least, I did until I heard someone shift their weight in the chair that rested beside my bed, and the thrumming started anew, to the point where it felt as though my heart might beat itself right out of my chest.

"Hmm…you might as well go on ahead and open up your eyes, Emma," a familiar, and sleepy, voice said. "You ain't all that good at playing possum and your eyelids are twitching something awful, so you might as well give it up, darlin'."

My eyes flew open then, and I would have shot straight up, and out, of the bed, had I been wearing something modest, as opposed to a full-length slip, which was my preferred bedtime garb. "Land sakes, Forrest," I gasped, aiming for a tone that was filled with anger and outrage and failing miserably, all because he'd called me "darlin'". "Were you _trying_ to scare me half to death, or was there some other reason why you are sitting at my bedside and staring at me?"

I noticed that he was still dressed in the clothing that he'd been wearing the night before, which suggested that he hadn't gone to bed at all, and I wondered if he'd been sitting there all night long, watching me sleep. I felt my face catch fire when I remembered that I had a tendency to snore, and, oh, God, to drool as well from time to time, and the thought that Forrest might have witnessed me in either state was humiliating, to say the very least.

"Hmm…I didn't mean to startle you," he said quietly, looking down at his hands, which were resting, folded, on his stomach. "It's just that I, hmm, well, what I mean to say is that I wasn't quite ready to leave you last night, and I, hmm, knew that it wouldn't be fitting for me to lay beside you in the bed, but I thought that maybe, hmm, that it would be alright if I was to sit here beside you instead. I never, hmm, meant to overstep my bounds, I just thought that, hmm….."

The heat on my face intensified, and was joined by an odd and exciting warmth that suffused itself between my thighs. The light in the room was poor, due to the fact that the sun had only just begun to peek its way through the clouds outside, but I could see enough of him to know that he was blushing, just as much as I was, maybe even more. He'd unfastened the top button of his shirt, and I could just barely make out his scar resting on his throat, and felt my heart clench uncomfortably when I thought of that time, and the others that had followed, when he'd almost been taken away from me.

"That's alright, Forrest," I murmured, throwing caution, and decorum, to the wind by sliding over closer to the side of the bed, feeling a sudden and overwhelming urge to be nearer to him. "Truth be told, I didn't want to leave you either. What happened between us last night was something that I've been dreaming of for years, and I wanted it to go on forever….."

Oh, Lord, what was wrong with me? It was if someone had taken away my ability to keep the thoughts that were best kept to myself in my mind, as opposed to allowing them to spill forth from my mouth, though, I suppose, now that I thought about it, my inner censor might not have been working at this time of the day, because I still wasn't quite awake.

Whatever the circumstance, I was making a spectacle of myself, and I was tempted to turn around and burrow beneath my covers, to suffer through my humiliation in peace, but he hindered that plan by reaching out and taking my hand in his own and holding me in place, and why would I want to hide, if he was content to hold my hand?

"Sounds to me like you didn't mind me sleeping here beside you, is that right?" he asked, rubbing his thumb against the palm of my hand, an action which caused that warmth between my thighs to spread out in waves, in an aching rhythm that was unlike anything that I'd ever felt before. "If we've both been having the same dream, that is."

It was so unlike Forrest, to be so forward and outspoken, but I wasn't inclined to complain, because I found this new side of him to be quite attractive, though, I suppose, if I was being completely honest, I would have to admit that there'd never been a time in my life, since I'd known him, where he'd ever been _un_attractive. Truth be told, he was the most handsome man that I'd ever seen in my life, he was one who I'd been sure would never cast an admiring eye in my direction, not when there was a bevy of women who would have loved to have been on his arm, and it was flattering, as well as a little disconcerting, to realize that _I _was the one that he wanted, not them.

"Where did you go?" he asked me softly, pulling me forward, so that I was sitting on the edge of the mattress, right next to his knees. "One minute you're looking at me and blushing, and the next minute the wheels in your head are spinning 'round and 'round and you look like you're puzzling over something that you can't quite figure out. Was it something that I did, or said? Hmm…have I went and stepped over the line after all?"

I don't know what it was that possessed me to be so bold, but for some reason I felt compelled to lean forward and place my head on his shoulder. Well, let me be honest now, because I know that it was the fact that I loved to be close to him that encouraged me to do so, and maybe that was why I chose to touch my lips, very softly and very gently, against the part of his scar that I could reach from that vantage point as well, though I hadn't imagined, except, perhaps, in my most scandalous fantasies, that he would take in a deep breath of air at the touch of my head, then hold it when he felt my lips pressed against his flesh, and it was nice to know that I wasn't the only one who was being swayed and wooed by the simplest of touches.

"I'm still here," I whispered, smiling when I felt him shudder from the feel of my mouth, resting so intimately against his neck. It was a new feeling for me, this power that I had over him, as a woman whom he desired, and it was a heady realization, to know that my touch was as pleasing to him as his was to me, though I was determined not to let the knowledge go to my head and make me conceited. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around all of this. I've spent so many years, hoping and praying, and now that this has happened, a part of me is scared that I'm going wake up and find out that it was all just a dream…"

It would seem that my audacity had inspired Forrest to be bold as well, or maybe he had already been inclined in that direction, but either way it caught me completely off-guard when he reached for me and pulled me onto his lap and cuddled me close in his arms, but, once more, I wasn't inclined to complain anytime soon.

I ignored the fact that my breasts were shamelessly jiggling all over the place beneath my slip and lost myself in his strength and his warmth, all while fighting the urge to wriggle against him like a kitty cat begging for a scratch behind its ears, after all, boldness was one thing, and brazenness was another, and I wasn't quite ready to step over the line from one into the other just yet.

"Hmm…this ain't a dream, darlin'," he whispered, running his hand down my bare arm and raising goosebumps on every inch of skin that he touched. "And you ain't the only one who's been wishing and praying, so don't think for a minute that you're in this alone, because I'm right here with you, Emma, and I ain't ever going to leave you."

He moved his hand to my cheek and turned my face toward his. "Would I be crossing the line if I was to kiss you right now?" he asked, cradling and caressing the softness of my cheek against the wonderfully roughened flesh of his palm. "Hmm…because if I am, you need to stop me right now, because if I get to kissing you, I ain't gonna stop anytime soon….."

"Who said anything about wanting you to stop?" I asked, placing my hand on his chest, over his heart, so that I could feel the strong rhythm against my palm. "And stop fussing so much over these 'lines' that you keep mentioning. I'll tell you if you do something that I don't like, so stop worrying so much, alright?"

"Hmm…alright," he said, smiling at me, really and truly smiling, before he closed the distance between us and touched my lips with his, making my toes curl and a warm shiver course its way up and down my spine. I hadn't done much smooching in my lifetime, truth be told, I'd never wanted to with anyone else, but it was something that I would have been happy to devote several hours to each and every day, now that Forrest and I were on kissing terms with one another. I started to think that this moment was the perfect time to do a little canoodling, before our obligations led us away from one another, but, as usual, Jack had other ideas.

Forrest had just moved his hand to the back of my head, so that he might deepen the kiss, when the sound of Jack thumping his way up the stairs dashed over us like a bucket of ice-cold water. Forrest slowly moved away from me and made a growling sound that would have been downright fearsome, had it been aimed at me.

"I'm sorry, darlin'," he grumbled, as Jack barreled past my room and made his way to his big brother's door, which he pounded on with a bit more force than what was proper so early in the morning.

"Rise and shine, Forrest," he called cheerfully, while his knuckles played the old "shave and a haircut" routine on the door, a sound that had my sweetheart growling all over again.

"That boy ain't got the sense that God gave a goose," Forrest said, shaking his head from side-to-side, and then he scowled at me when I giggled in response. "It ain't funny, you know? How would you like it if one of your kin spent most of his time going out of his way to prove to the world that he was dumber'n a bag of hammers?"

His first comment had elicited a titter from me, but the second one made me laugh out loud, a peal that rang throughout the room, and the next thing I knew Jack, who'd been searching his brother's empty bedroom for a sign of him, came busting into the room, without bothering to knock, mind you, and had me scrambling to leave Forrest's snug embrace, so that I might cover myself, but he kept his arm wrapped tightly around me while he turned to glare at his little brother.

"Aw, hell…this is a bad time, isn't it?" Jack asked, turning a bright shade of red from the base of his neck, all the way up to his hairline. It was a question that he seemed to ask quite frequently, much more often than he ought to have, and I wondered how long it would be before he finally learned to knock before he entered a room. After all, most people had figured out that it was something that they ought to do while they were a small child, but for some reason it seemed that Jack just couldn't get that notion through his skull…though I had a good idea that Forrest would have been more than happy at that moment to hammer the lesson home, if needs be.

"Hmm…it was a good time, for us, up until a couple of minutes ago," Forrest grumbled, setting a glance on Jack that would have seen him buried six feet under, if looks could have killed. "And now you're going to share in that disappointment, baby brother, because I just remembered that Pa said he could use a good hand to muck out the barn and nut a couple of his bulls. I was going to do it myself, but now that I think about it, I reckon that you'll do the job just fine, won't you?"

I had a good idea that Jack had been seeking out his older brother bright and early so that he could ask for some time to run some errands, which was the excuse that he always went to when he had a hankering to spend time with Bertha Mannix, but now he was going to be up to his knees, and possibly even to his elbows, in manure and testicles instead…I just hoped that he washed himself good all over before he went courting tonight.

Forrest's POV

The day had been a busy one, filled with taking inventory and manning the grill, all while I ignored Jack and his pouting puss once he'd finished with his work at the home place. I'd known that he meant to spend the day sparking with Bertha Mannix, but it was his own damned fault that he'd been ass-deep in cow and pig shit instead, while he sawed the balls off a couple of bulls. After all, a person ought to learn by the age of five, at the very latest, how to knock on a door before they barged into a person's room, especially when they were a male, and the door in question belonged to a female. Maybe today's lesson would help him in that endeavor, though I wasn't inclined to hold my breath while I waited for him to prove that he had a lick of sense.

I tried to keep my mind firmly on my work, but it was kind of hard to concentrate on numbers and orders when my mind insisted on drifting off and landing on Emma time and time again. I still couldn't figure out where my boldness had come from, both from the dance and the kiss that we'd shared last night, and the embrace that we'd had that morning, not to mention sleeping in her room, beside her bed. I'd never been one who was given to saying and doing what I wanted where tender feelings were concerned, I'd always reckoned that it was too risky to open myself up that way, but she made me forget all the things that I'd thought before, she inspired me to say the things that I felt in my heart, to lay my hands on her, like I'd always wanted…she made me believe that it was possible that prayers were answered and dreams could come true.

Land sakes…I sounded like I'd gone all screwy in my head, didn't I? I guess that was what love did to a man, wasn't it? It made him soft in the head and in the heart…and not so soft in other places. That was a condition that I found myself in more and more these days, especially last night, when she was in my arms, and this morning, when she was on my lap…and most especially while I watched her sleep, and listened to her whisper my name.

At first I thought that she'd awakened, when I heard my name on her lips, but then I saw that she'd said it in her sleep instead, she'd murmured it in a way that was breathless and loving, and I'd entertained the notion that she was dreaming of me in a way that would have been considered improper by polite society, and the pictures that had entered my mind had made me blush blood red, even though there was no one in the room save for me and her, and she was asleep. They had also caused an uprising to take place that had made sitting still in that chair a mite bit more uncomfortable than it ought to have been, but I'd been too intent on enjoying them to put any serious effort into making it go away with my mind, and it was an ache that had stayed with me all throughout the day, one that was bound to linger for a good, long while.

Closing time rolled around before long and the crowd slowly dwindled away, until it was just me and my brothers cleaning up after the customers, while Emma toiled away in the kitchen. It wasn't long before Howard was heading out, to go home to Lucy, and Jack stalked away as well, undoubtedly to lick his wounds, and after the door had closed behind them I turned toward the kitchen, where my girl was making up provisions to get us through the rest of the week, and on a lark I turned on the radio behind the bar, breaking the sudden silence with the sound of the Carter Family telling everyone to keep on the sunny side of life.

"Emma?" I called, stepping close to the door. "Are you 'bout done with all of your baking yet?"

I hoped that it didn't sound like I was rushing her, but I suppose that the truth of the matter was that I _was _hurrying her along, so that I might spend some time with her. It hadn't been necessary for her to do all the cleaning and the cooking that she'd insisted on, given that this was her day off, and I was anxious to lay my eyes on her and drink my fill of her. My arms were empty when they ought to have been full, my lips were ready to kiss and be kissed…long story short, I was itching to do some sparking, and there wasn't much that could be done while she was shut up in that kitchen, was there?

"I'll be out in just a minute, Forrest," she called, in a voice that was cheerful and full of life, when she out to have been plumb worn-out by now. "I've got a surprise for you."

Well, that sounded promising, didn't it? My mind entertained a variety of possibilities, each more scandalous and unlikely than the other, and I'd worked myself up into a pretty good lather by the time that she made it out of the kitchen, carrying a pie dish in one hand, and a fork in the other, and I felt my eyes goggle out of my head as my attention concentrated itself on the pie pan, piled high with meringue, bringing to mind that night from so long ago, when I'd placed the winning wager on a delicious chocolate cream pie.

"Did you make that just for me?" I asked, and then blushed when it dawned on me that my question was a dumb one, considering that she'd said that she had a surprise for me. "It's a chocolate pie, isn't it?"

She bid me to follow her to the bar and took a seat on one of the stools after she'd placed the pie on the counter. "Have a seat, Forrest," she said, gesturing to the stool beside her. "It dawned on me today that you are quite fond of my chocolate cream pie, and then I remembered how many years had passed since I made one for you. It seemed to me like an awful long time for you to have gone without a taste of the pie that you obviously love, and I was happy to make one for you…though I hope that you're willing to share a little of it with me."

She took hold of the fork and delved it right into the middle of the pie, bringing up what was sure to be a mouthful of flaky crust, creamy pudding and frothy, sweetened meringue, then turned to look at me with a big smile on her face, and I knew that there was nothing that she could have asked me for at that moment that I would have refused, even if she'd asked for the moon.

"Open wide," she ordered, and I quickly complied, and was rewarded with the bite of pie, followed by a kiss that was just as sweet. "Well, don't keep me in suspense," she said, reaching out with her thumb to wipe away a smear of the pie that was resting on the corner of my mouth, then shocked me, in the best way possible, by sticking her thumb between her lips and sucking it clean. "Is it as good as you remembered it to be?"

There wasn't any way that I could tell her what I was thinking and feeling at that moment, not without getting slapped, or so I would imagine. "Hmm…it's even better," I answered, taking the fork, to cut a dainty piece of the pie for her. "Here you go, darlin'," I murmured, and placed the bite in her mouth, and watched as she chewed, and then swallowed it, and then I put my hand on her cheek and drew her close to me, and slowly lowered my lips to take hold of hers in a kiss.

I'd been a gentleman up until that point, I'd taken it nice and slow, but I had a powerful urge to deepen things, to have a taste of her, and this seemed like the perfect moment for me to take a chance and take things further. I wasn't all that knowledgeable when it came to smooching, so I took my time and softened up her lips good and proper before I slid the tip of my tongue against the seam that led inside, teasing and wooing her, until I heard a soft gasp escape her, and then, wonder of wonders, she opened for me, just as I'd hoped she would.

I took no notice of the fork as it clattered to the counter, because I was a little too busy taking Emma into my arms, holding her tight while I kissed her until she went limp in my arms. I wasn't certain what sort of speed or pressure that I ought to employ, I wasn't sure what was proper and what wasn't, so I kept things slow and soft, moving my tongue and gliding it around her mouth in a gently steady rhythm, and I must have been doing a pretty good job, if the way that she clung to me, and whimpered every now and then was any indication, and it wasn't long before she was meeting me stroke for stroke, and then it was my turn to groan and run my hands up and down her back while I lost myself in her embrace.

Yep, this pie was definitely better than the last one had been. I just wish that I'd been smart enough to spark her way back when, but then, when I thought about it, I decided that it wasn't too bad that I hadn't, because now I had years to make up for, and what could be better than that?


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Forrest's POV

"Hey Emma, did you hear that there's going to be a dance at the Thibodeaux's tonight?"

Damned Jack, I might have known that he'd mention the get-together at the Thibodeaux's, when I'd hoped that Emma wouldn't catch wind of it, but if there was one thing that I could count on my baby brother for, it was running his mouth when he ought to have kept it shut, so why was I surprised? She was fond of dancing, as most women seemed to be, and would undoubtedly be interested in going and then what was I going to do?

Some might say that I could give her the night off, to go by herself, that I could sit up and wait for her to come back home, long after midnight, with pink cheeks and dancing eyes, knowing, in my gut, that several men had held her in their arms and swirled her 'round the dance floor…hell, just the thought of it was enough to make me hot around the collar, so what choice would I have but to take her myself?

"Oh, I haven't been to a dance in ages," she said happily, and it wasn't hard at all to imagine the look that was on her face at that moment. She would be smiling in that way that made her eyes glow, and all that it would take would be one tiny look at her and I'd be a goner, I'd do anything that she wanted me to do. "Are you going to be taking Bertha?"

I felt like a fool, standing halfway down the stairs, spying on their conversation even though I had every right to make my presence known by joining in, choosing instead to wait, with a growing sense of dread, to hear Jack's answer, even though I already knew what it was. Baby Brother wasn't about to let an opportunity to swan around with Bertha Minnix on his arm pass him by, and the knowledge that they'd be attending was certain to make Emma want to go to the dance all the more.

"Yep, Bertha's coming with me, and Howard and Lucy will be there as well. You really ought to come, Emma. It ain't right for you to coop yourself up inside this station day in and day out, you know?"

Well, hell, that settled that, didn't it? Everyone near and far knew that I was courting Emma, and if Jack was to show up to the dance with Bertha, and Howard with Lucy, everyone would be certain to take notice that I hadn't done so with Emma. I was of the mind that Howard's actions oughtn't to have even been considered, given that Lucy was his wife, but that wouldn't be enough to halt wagging tongues, I knew enough of the minds of those around me to know that for a fact, and I wasn't about to sit back and do nothing while everyone had a grand old time whispering about Emma behind her back.

"So, do you want to ride along with me and Bertha?" Jack asked, and I let loose with a growl before it dawned on me that one of them might overhear me. "We'll have plenty of room, and I know that she would love to have someone around for a little bit of womanly chitchat."

I heard Emma place one of her cast-iron skillets on the stovetop behind the counter, and a moment after that I heard a dollop of lard being added to the pan, then a trio of eggs crackling as she freed them from their shells. "It sounds like a lot of fun, Jack, and I appreciate the invitation, but I enjoy spending time with Forrest in the evenings, and if he's not attending, then I won't either."

It felt good, to know that she liked our time spent together, just the two of us, before we made our way upstairs and we each bedded down, her in her room, me in mine, until a couple of hours had passed by and I made my way down the hall, into her bedroom, to sleep beside her bed in that chair that always left me with a crick in my neck and a throbbing pain in my back. Lord knows that I loved those times, I relished each and every second that she gave me, and I was selfish enough to hoard them for myself, to refuse to share her with anyone else, but was I really so greedy that I was willing to hurt her in the process?

Of course I wasn't…the very thought was too painful to think about for very long, as a matter of fact. I'd just as soon have popped open the scar on my throat with a rusty soup spoon, if my other choice was causing Emma pain of any sort, especially if I was to, God forbid, make her cry while I did it. I was a coldblooded son of a bitch in many ways, but not where she was concerned. Truth be told, I was putty in her hands, I couldn't even fathom…..

Aw, hellfire…why was I letting myself get all worked up, for heaven's sake? She wasn't even on the verge of tears, so why was I imagining her crying buckets because of me? Didn't I have enough trouble in life without borrowing some more? I suppose a lot of my problem had to do with the fact that I was letting my heart make most of the decisions where she was concerned, when my damned pecker didn't try to overshadow it, that is, and my brain was so scrambled that I couldn't think straight anymore.

"That danged old Forrest sure is a stick-in-the-mud, ain't he?" Jack asked, and I entertained my mind with the image of rushing down the stairs and throttling him, the fact that my spying would be discovered be damned, and I might have done so, had I not been there to hear what Emma had to say in response to his question.

"You'd do well to remember every now and then to respect your brother and to speak kindly of him," she said quietly, in a tone that was edged with anger, and I pictured her eyes narrowing, and growing hot with her temper, and a little jolt of desire rocketed through me and caught me completely off-guard. "You'd especially be wise to do so when you're speaking to me, because I don't take kindly to those who run Forrest down, and you're about two seconds away from getting a whack upside your head with this spatula, so if I was you, and I wanted to avoid a grease burn, I'd get while the getting was good, you catch my drift?"

Damn, but I loved this woman. There were some men who would say that it was a bad trait in a female, to have a feistiness about her that she wasn't afraid to show, but I thought that it was good to see a woman who didn't shuffle about and keep her eyes trained on the floor, out of the fear that she'd get a smack if she dared to look up or open her mouth with an opinion of her own. I wouldn't have tamed Emma in any way, I was fond of her just the way that she was, and I couldn't help but chuckle when I heard Jack skedaddle out of the room as quick as his feet would carry him…a laugh that died in my throat when Emma suddenly appeared at the foot of the stairs.

I wasn't certain what I ought to do, and I could feel my face burning under a blush while she stared up at me, with one eyebrow raised. I reluctantly accepted that it was my fate to be chastised as well, and it was a welcome surprise when she smiled at me instead and waggled her finger at me, before she turned around to make her way back to the counter.

"Don't dawdle too long, James Forrest Bondurant," she called over her shoulder, swaying her backside more than what she normally did as she walked away from me, a sign of flirty sassiness that caught hold of me a tad bit south of my waist. "That is, unless you're fond of eating cold eggs, and I just didn't know it."

Hmm…I might have made a mistake when I told her my full name, wouldn't you agree?

Emma's POV

It was something that was to be expected in a younger woman, to turn this way and that in front of a mirror, pondering their image and searching for any and every fault that might have existed, but it wasn't as understandable in a woman of thirty. That being said, I'd never been on a real date before, and I hadn't attended a dance since I was fifteen, so it made sense, at least it did to me, that I'd be feeling just a mite bit nervous and unsure of myself…it was just a pity that Forrest wasn't quite as understanding.

Oh, he didn't purposefully rush me, and he certainly didn't bully me, but I could hear him downstairs, pacing back and forth, back and forth, until I was ready to holler down at him to stop it before he wore holes in the floorboards and drove me right out of my mind. I knew he wasn't all that keen on attending this dance, I hadn't been expecting him to suggest it, even though he'd been eavesdropping on my conversation with Jack earlier in the day, and it was the knowledge that he was doing so for me that encouraged me to keep my mouth shut.

I turned to one side, and then to the other, taking inventory of my figure and wondering if my dress complimented me, or if it chose to emphasize my faults instead. My waist wasn't the smallest to be found, and neither were my breasts or my backside, but all in all I reckoned that I looked just fine, a little more brazen than I normally would, but fine none the less.

"Did you fall asleep up there, Emma?" Forrest called up the stairs, his voice betraying a tiny hint of his fleeting patience. "There ain't all that much that you could do to make yourself any prettier than you already are, so why are you making such a fuss?"

I was tempted to call back to him that he didn't know anything at all about what a woman needed to do to feel presentable, but I knew that his words had been intended as a compliment, and, truthfully, I was pleased by what he'd said. It was vanity, to look at myself in the way that he'd suggested, but I couldn't help but feel as if I truly was more than "just fine", that I really was beautiful, and after one last glance in the mirror I made my way out of my room, and downstairs, stopping on the last step, so that he could see me, and, hopefully, admire me.

He slowly walked over to the staircase, his eyes widened, looking very handsome in a pair of black trousers and a black vest that I'd never seen before, covering a snow-white shirt. He'd broken out his best clothing for the shindig, even though he hated dances, and he hated dressing up, and I, in turn, had taken out a dress that I'd never worn before, one that I'd never had the opportunity to wear before, and standing there, with him staring at me the way that he was, I began to worry that I might have made a mistake.

I wondered what I looked like in his eyes, with my hair softly waved and hanging down my back, and my darkened eyes and crimson mouth. Did he approve of the way that my dress clung to my curves, which in itself could be considered flashy, despite its modest neckline and hem? Would he be hesitant to be seen escorting me, looking so different from the way that I normally looked, or was he pleased by the temporary change in me?

His eyes moved up and down my figure, lingering here and there, and I couldn't help but blush beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. I was feeling very self-conscious by that point, so much so that I was on the verge of turning and fleeing back to the safety of my room, when suddenly he smiled, which in itself was a rarity, more so now, that his eyes were filled with a heat that made a shiver of awareness course through my body, centering itself in the core of my femininity.

"Turn around, darlin'," he murmured, offering me his hand for me to hold, while he twirled me 'round and 'round like a ballerina. When I came to a rest he was standing close to me, and he helped me down off of the step, and then moved even closer, so that his body was pressed up against mine. My high heels put us on a more even plane, where height was concerned, and I could feel the proof of the effect that I had on him, and it was knowledge that intensified the ache within me.

"Hmm…you're looking mighty fine this evening, Emma," he said gruffly, resting his hands on my waist, his fingers curling as he leaned his head close and drew the scent of Bellodgia Caron deep into his nostrils. I knew that the perfume was a nice compliment for me, but it was something that I didn't wear very often, only on special occasions, so this was the first time that he'd smelled it on me. "And you smell good too…hmm…not that you ever smell bad, you understand, but….."

His cheeks were turning red and I let him stammer for a few moments before I hushed him with a fingertip pressed against his lips. "Thank you, Forrest, you're looking mighty fine yourself." I murmured, rubbing the tip of my nose against his, and teasing him with the warmth of my breath on his lips. "And you smell good too. Bay rum has always been one of my favorites, but it's rare to find a man who wears it as well as you do."

His blush spread to the tips of his ears, intensifying the spicy scent that he'd splashed on for the evening, even more so when the flush traveled down on his neck, but I wasn't inclined to complain. I couldn't recall a time when he'd ever worn cologne before this night, at least not in my presence, but it was something that I could definitely get used to. I liked to smell his masculine scent, the one that was a mixture of the outdoors and of a man who didn't hesitate to work hard, with a light, and surprisingly pleasing hint of cigar smoke added in, when he cuddled me close in his arms, and I'd never want to lose that, but it wouldn't be difficult at all for me to become accustomed to the scent of bay rum as well.

I watched his throat working furiously as he struggled to swallow and his fingers curled tight at my waist, clenching into fists as he strove for control, and I couldn't help but marvel to find myself in the place that I was in at that moment. I'd dreamed about this for so long, I'd wished for it, I'd prayed for it, and I was so happy that I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to find myself floating off of the floor.

"Hmm…we better get going, otherwise you're going to be in danger of walking through the Thibodeaux's door with mussed hair and smeared lipstick," he said, bending his head to press his lips against my cheek. "A man can only be expected to resist so much temptation, and then it only makes sense that he has no choice but to kiss a woman until they're both breathless….."

He groaned deep in his throat and slowly moved away from me, and it was very unladylike, I would imagine, but I couldn't help but take notice of, and be fascinated by, the swelling in his trousers. "I wouldn't mind if you mussed my hair or smeared my lipstick," I said, feeling a curious warmth radiating from the crux of my thighs. "As a matter of fact, I have a pretty good idea that I would enjoy that very much."

He made a sound, one that was a mixture of a groan and a growl and started to reach for me, only to stop, and close his eyes for a moment, before he offered me the crook of his arm instead. "Don't tempt me, darlin'," he said, in a voice that was thrillingly gruff. "There'll be plenty of time for that later on, but I'm not about to give those old-timers anything new to gossip about."

I slipped my hand into the bend of his arm and felt a jolt of anticipation course its way through me. I had been looking forward to the dance, I still was, but now I knew that I would be counting down the seconds until I could be alone with him. I just hoped that I could conduct myself like a lady until it was time for us to leave…though it would fun, in my opinion, to give all of the old biddies and gossips something new to talk about.

Forrest's POV

The brand-new Ford V-8 had seemed like a needless purchase when I'd made it, but tonight, moving swiftly along the moon swept road, with Emma cuddled close against my side, I was grateful to have it. My old truck or my business coupe would have worked just as well in a pinch, but a date with my sweetheart was a special occasion, one that warranted the very best of everything, and my new car had served to make the night complete.

She was resting her head on my shoulder, and her hand on my knee, softly singing _Wildwood Flower_ as I happened upon a spot resting a short ways from the road, and pulled off and stopped the car. I was nervous and felt like a teenage boy as the car quieted and she finished the song, her sweet voice filling what would have otherwise been anxious silence, but the song soon came to an end, and then there was nothing but the sound of our breathing to fill our ears.

"You like that song, don'tcha?" I asked, desperate to find something, anything to talk about. "You were singing it while we danced, if memory serves."

She turned to me and smiled and rubbed her hand on my knee. "It's one of my favorites," she said softly. "Granted, it's a little sad, but it sure is pretty, isn't it?"

Oh, Lord…her eyes were shining at me, and she kept licking her lips, which was a sure sign that she wanted me to kiss her. It was something that I'd been thinking about all night, from the moment I'd seen her make her way down the stairs at the station, with all of her beautiful curves accentuated in a way that had, and still did, make my mouth water. I'd tolerated her dancing once with Jack, and once with Howard, but every other fool who'd dared to ask had been on the receiving end of a look from me that made them scatter. It was all that I could think of, how much I wanted to, how much I'd _needed_ to kiss her, each and every time that I'd taken her into my arms, and now, sitting there in the car, I knew that I couldn't wait one minute longer.

"Hmm…it is, but not nearly as pretty as you are," I said, moving her over on the seat, so that I could have room to embrace her as closely as I liked. "As a matter of fact, I can't think of a single thing that's as pretty as you are, darlin'."

I wasn't all that learned when it came to wooing a woman with my words, usually I choked in situations such as these, but by the grace of God I'd been given the ability, no matter how short-term, to let loose with flattering words like the most accomplished silver-tongued devil. It was a realization that almost made me conceited, just for a moment, but I caught hold of that urge before it could take me, knowing that nothing good would come from giving myself airs.

"Oh, Forrest," she murmured and raised her hand to my face, cupping my cheek and gazing at me with eyes that were even more twinkly than they had been. "You say the sweetest things to me, honey."

That was all that it took to convince me to take hold of her lips with my own, not that I needed much encouragement where that was concerned. I started things slowly just as I always did, but it wasn't long before my mouth grew hungry for the taste of her and I deepened the kiss, sweeping my tongue into her mouth and groaning deep in my throat when I heard her gasp and felt her hands tighten their grip on the back of my neck.

I told myself what my limitations were and I promised myself that I wouldn't stray beyond those boundaries, no matter what. I'd missed out on so much with her, and I felt like the world's greatest fool when I thought about the life that we could have been living, had I not been such a coward, but then I reckoned that there wasn't any reason that I ought to fixate myself on the past, when the future held so much promise.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Forrest's POV

Annie Howe was a woman who was obviously unaccustomed to begging, though I reckoned that she ought to be used to it by now, considering the fact that she was married to Ellery "Stump" Howe, a man who'd gladly sell everything and everyone that belonged to him for a jar of corn. Maybe _begging_ was the wrong word to use, she was far too proud in her bearing and mannerisms to paint the picture of someone who'd resort to shameful pleading, but there was a definite air of desperateness that hung on her, and it was one that I could see was having an obvious effect on Emma.

She'd been a pretty girl when she married Stump, a mischievous little imp with hair that was the color of straw and eyes that were as blue as the summer sky, but ten years of marriage to an abusive drunk and eight children, with another one on the way, had taken its toll on her, and now she looked like a shrunken old woman, even though she had just turned twenty-five. She stood on the side of the counter opposite Emma and tried to keep track of her children as they shouted and tussled and climbed their way around her and one another and I thought to myself that things must have gotten pretty bad at her place, if she was willing to pass through our front door to seek assistance.

"This place looks mighty clean, Missus, but I can scrub the floors 'n make 'em shine," she said, shifting one of her children, one with a dirty face and runny nose from one hip to the other, over her swollen belly. "I can do all the warshin' and the ironin' and help out in any way that ya need, jus' so long as I can bring my young'uns with me. They're clean wore out today, tha's why they's actin' so ornery, but I promise they won't give ya a lick o' trouble later on. They can help me with my chores, and any others that ya scare up, if you'd jus' give me a chance, Missus."

Hmm…now that was bewildering. I knew that Annie had seen me when she entered the station, I knew that for a fact because she'd given me a dark, nasty look when she walked past me. I guess she was inclined to blame me for all of the times that Stump had spent the money that ought to have gone for their rent and food on shine, but it wasn't as if I'd held a loaded gun to his head and made him buy his weekly supply, had I? And I had cut him off as of late, which meant that someone other than me was supplying him, so what right did she have to be cutting her eyes at me, and if she was in need of a job, why hadn't she asked _me_ for one?

"Maybe they'd like a biscuit while they wait for you to talk things over with Mr. Bondurant," Emma suggested, turning to the stove, to the big bowl of fresh made biscuits that she'd covered with a towel to keep warm until she started serving supper. "I've got a jar of homemade strawberry jam that I bought off of Ruth Ellis, and it tastes downright heavenly on a biscuit. Would that be alright with you, Mrs. Howe?"

Annie's lip curled and her back stiffened at the mention of my name, and I had a good idea that she'd just as soon do-si-do with a mountain lion as to ask _me_ for a job. "I didn't come here for charity," she said crisply, raising her chin in the air, while her children, whose ears had perked up at the mention of a biscuit smeared with strawberry jam, all but climbed her skirts while they shamed their mother by begging. "What I need is a job, Missus, not another handout."

"Hmm…then you'll need to talk to _me_, and not Mrs. Cantrell," I said, making my way across the room, pursuing the topic, you might say, even though her body language warned me that I ought to keep my distance. She'd probably say that I was forcing myself on the conversation, sticking my nose where it didn't belong, but I reckoned that I had a right to do just that, given that I was the boss man at the station for the most part. "And a biscuit with a smear of jam ain't charity, Mrs. Howe, it's just our way of showing a bit of kindness to your little ones…make sure to give them a glass of milk too, Emma."

I could see the conflict on Annie's face just as clear as day, and I wondered which would prove triumphant in her inner struggle, her pride or her love for her children. I knew that it was hard enough for her to consider passing on the biscuit and jam, but the addition of milk was bound to make a refusal damn near impossible. I couldn't say with any certainty how long it had been since her babies had partaken of milk, but I was willing to bet that it had been awhile.

"Why're you so eager t' help me and my young'uns, Forrest Bondurant, when you've gone outta your way t' help Ellery with his sickness? I wouldn't have had t' come beggin' in the first place, if you'd jus' turned him away when he showed up, rarin' to spend every last penny that we scraped together on that demon brew of yours."

She held back her children with both arms, but I could see her resolve weakening when their cries and pleas grew to a pitch that was threatening to shatter my eardrums. "I don't have to defend myself to you, Mrs. Howe, but I will anyway, if it will make you happy. The truth of the matter is that I haven't sold to ol' Stump in a good, long while. I told him that he'd have to get his house in order before he'd get another jar off of me or my brothers, and I ain't seen him since, so there's no need for you to be holding a grudge against me or any of my kin."

There was no change whatsoever in her outer appearance that answered my words, but suddenly she gestured the children, who were all either in tears by that point, or right on the edge of sobbing their little hearts out toward the counter, where Emma stood at the ready with plates of biscuits and glasses of milk.

"Y'all mind your manners and don't make a mess," she ordered, ruffling heads of hair and wiping tears from cheeks as the eight little ragamuffins hauled themselves onto stools, the bigger ones lending a hand to the smaller ones and laid into the grub with a gusto that made their mother blush with shame. "Land sakes, don't eat so durned fast," she scolded, but she might as well have chastised the wall, for all the response she received.

She turned toward me and stared at a spot that was just over my left shoulder. "I oughtn't to have said what I did, and I'd be happy t' take it back, if'n you'll let me," she said, concentrating on that distant spot with all of her might, and I wondered if it was disgust or fear, or maybe even a combination of the two which kept her from meeting my eyes. "Mebbe I done pushed things too far, mebbe ya don't want t' gimme another chance to gripe at'cha by givin' me chores, but I swear that I'll keep my trap shut if you'll jus' gimme a chance, Mr. Bondurant. I ain't got nowheres else t' go for work, an' I hate t' beg, but that's what I'll do, if that's what it takes….."

"Hmm…I ain't ever been one for telling someone what they can and cannot say," I said awkwardly, wishing that she'd either look me in the eye or turn her back on me altogether. "And I ain't all that keen on begging neither, so there's no reason why you ought to entertain the notion of doing so. I was thinking that you could stop by five days of the week, whichever suit you and your schedule, from noon until five, and I'll pay you ten dollars a week, plus a cache of groceries on Fridays. How does that sound to you?"

She looked at me then, her faded blue eyes locked onto my face, and I reckoned that she couldn't have hidden the look of surprise that I saw there, not even if she tried. "That's mighty kind of ya, Mr. Bondurant, mighty generous, but I ain't worth nearly that much. It'd seem like I was robbin' ya, if you was to pay me that much, and I don' need the groceries neither, 'cause I can buy my own food….."

"Hmm…it's a fair wage for both of us," I interrupted, knowing that the weekly amount I'd offered was a damned sight more than what she was used to seeing in a month, if I had to wager. "I wouldn't have set the amount that I did if I didn't know that you were worth it and would earn it neither. And the groceries are 'til you get on your feet, and then I'll take that off of the table…how does that sound to you?"

She took a deep breath, then glanced back at her children, who'd all scarfed down the one biscuit and chugged their glass of milk, and were happily waiting on Emma to serve them seconds. "I'd say that I might have judged you wrong, Forrest Bondurant," she whispered, holding out her bony hand to me, in a bid to seal the deal between us. "I'll start tomorrow, if that'll suit ya jus' fine."

I took her hand and shook it, cursing Stump for his failings as a husband and a father and a man when I felt for myself how gaunt she was. "I'll see you at noon," I agreed, and turned to head to my office, but not before I took notice of the way that Emma was watching me, with a smile on her face and eyes that were big and soft and full of something that might have been, that I hoped was, love. I hadn't done what I did simply because I knew she wanted me to, I'd done it because I wanted to as well, but that look and that smile made it more than worth it, and I felt like I'd handed her the moon, that I was her knight in shining armor, and I might have looked like a fool, but I couldn't have wiped the grin off of my face, not even if I'd wanted to, no matter how hard I tried, and that was alright with me.

Emma's POV

I'd wanted to stand beneath the rose covered trellis in the backyard while Walton and I exchanged vows, but Mother Cantrell had insisted that we do so in the gazebo that rested in the front yard, surrounded by the guests sitting in a series of half circles on white rattan chairs, and what Mother had wanted, Mother had gotten. That was why I had worn my hair in a fashion that was more suitable to a matronly woman. That was why I'd worn that scratchy lace gown and carried a bouquet of daisies, when I would have preferred lilies.

Poor Walton, he'd looked just as nervous as I had felt, though I'd been fairly certain that he hadn't been quite as forlorn as I had been. As far as I'd known, he hadn't been pining over the loss of his lifelong love, as I'd been, but there had been a hint of sadness in his eyes as well, one that I had to have seen, though I hadn't given it any of my notice at the time. I'd been too caught up in my breaking heart and the fact that Forrest hadn't come to the wedding to take notice of Walton's emotions.

We'd danced inside the gazebo, after we'd cut the cake, and my toes had hurt terribly afterward, because Walton had trodden upon them several times. I'd danced with my husband, and with his brother, and his drunken cousin Cecil, and then, my mother-in-law had led me to an alcove that rested on the side of the grand family home, the one that led into the garden, and had precisely, and very coldly, informed me of the expectations that she'd held for me, that the world would hold for me, as Walton's wife.

By the time that she'd left me my ears had been aching just as bad as my toes, and I'd been positively livid, and that was why I'd retreated into the garden. It had been a beautiful place, with every kind of flower that I could think of, and romantic marble statues and stone fountains with naked cherubs. I'd been of the opinion that the reception would have been well-placed within the garden, where the guests could be surrounded by beauty, but my idea had immediately been vetoed by Mother Cantrell, which meant that I'd had the place to myself…or so I'd thought.

There'd been a spot in the garden that was always swathed in shadows in the spring and summer, no matter what the time of day, because of a small copse of oak trees that laid just beyond the hedgerow on that side, and as I'd moved closer to that spot I'd heard the rustling of clothing and whimpers and sighs amidst the sound of lips meeting passionately with one another, and I'd started to turn, to leave, because it had been obvious that I'd happened upon a trysting couple…but then I'd recognized Walton…and I'd recognized the one who was in his arms as well, and it was a scene that hadn't made sense, one that had shocked me to the core…..

"Wake up, darlin'," a wonderfully familiar voice spoke to me, as strong and gentle hands took hold of my shoulders and shook me awake. "It's just a bad dream, wake up and look at me, Emma."

I sat up with a start, gasping and gulping while I vigorously rubbed my eyes with my fists in a bid to wipe away my tears, and the scandalous scene in the garden, the one that had changed everything in my life, the one that had made no sense to me at all. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't forget what I'd seen, no matter how hard I rubbed my eyes, I could still see the look of shock, and of shame on Walton's face, and the burning rage and hatred that had met me when I'd looked into the eyes of his lover...

"Oh, God," I said brokenly, bending at the waist and covering my mouth with my hand in an attempt to stifle the pathetic keening sound that seemed to be raising itself to life from my heart. I don't know why I was so upset, it wasn't as if I'd loved my husband, and his betrayal, and the truth of who he'd been, had proven to be a blessing for me in the end, but I just couldn't make any sense of the fact that I was remembering this now, after all the years that had passed by, and what was even worse was the fact that I was falling apart in front of Forrest, who was certain to want an explanation for what had upset me so badly, and I was an awful liar, so the truth was bound to come out.

"Shh, darlin', don't cry," he whispered, hesitating for just a moment, before he climbed onto the bed and took me into his arms. "I know that it seemed real, and it scared you, but it was just a dream and it can't hurt you now."

I might have laughed, had I not been so busy crying. It was true that he'd woken me, and that the images would fade and leave me be, but it wasn't just some random dream that had seized hold of me, one that I'd forget, given enough time, because its roots had been born in memories, in the reality of what my life had been while Walton was alive. It wasn't something that had hurt me, per se, and it wasn't something that wounded me now, but it was a secret that could prove detrimental to my health, if Mother Cantrell and Willard were to discover that I'd breathed a word of their shameful family secret to Forrest Bondurant.

"Don't leave me," I begged, holding him close, mindful, but uncaring of the fact that my slip provided me with very little modesty. "I know that I shouldn't ask, I know that it's terribly unladylike of me to….."

He tightened his hold on me, pulling me against his chest, and I realized that his undershirt, and the thin fabric of my slip, offered paltry protection from the feel of his flesh against mine. His t-shirt fit him snugly, and accentuated the muscled planes of his chest and showed off his arms in a way that left no doubt in my mind, not that there would have been one anyway, that he was a very strong, very masculine man.

I suppose that could have been one of the reasons that my pulse had accelerated, but was it the sight of him or the sound of his breathing that made my nipples harden to a point that was almost painful? Was it the feel of his body, pressed so intimately against mine, or was it his smell that made that curiously wonderful ache awaken between my thighs? Maybe it was a combination of everything, that was a very good possibility, but that was no reason for me to entertain the notion of rubbing myself against him and encouraging him to slide his big, calloused hand between my thighs, was it?

"Hmm…I'm not going to go anywhere," he assured me, running his hand up and down my back, lingering at my shoulder, and again, at my waist, to squeeze my flesh. "It probably ain't all that gentlemanly for me to take a spot in your bed, but if it's alright with you, I think that I'll just stay here for the rest of the night."

I knew that I was behaving shamelessly, but I just couldn't keep my hand from running up his chest, boldly stroking and learning every curve and contour. He looked down and watched with eyes that widened, then heated, when my fingertips found, and teased the flesh that hardened, until they matched mine, and I wondered if they ached like mine did.

"Hmm…I like what you're doing, darlin', please don't think that I don't, but you're making it awfully hard for me to remember my manners," he said, his voice low and husky, a tone that sent a shiver of awareness coursing up and down my spine, and ending in that ache between my thighs, the one that had become more of a pulse.

"What would you do if I told you that I wouldn't mind if you forgot them for just a little while?" I whispered, teasing him with my fingertips until he moaned deep in his throat. "Would you still respect me as a lady, or would you take me for a wanton hussy?"

I giggled a little as I said the words, thinking to myself that I might have been behaving a little shamelessly, but I was still a long way from being a hussy…though I could easily imagine myself becoming one with him. After all, there had been a time in my life when I would have been horrified at the notion of lying in a bed with a man in my pajamas, even if we weren't touching, but lately all he'd had to do was look at me in a certain way and I was ready, set and more than willing to climb him like he was a tree.

"Hmm…I guess that I might do this," he said, placing his hand against my cheek and kissing me softly, the way that he knew I loved.

"And then I might be tempted to do this," he whispered, pulling down one of the straps on my slip, so that it hovered above my elbow, and folded down my bodice, 'til the slope of my breast was on display.

"Then, if I was to be really bold, I might do this," he said, pressing a soft kiss to my earlobe, then he took the flesh between his teeth and bit it, very gently, so that I gasped and pressed myself closer to him. His lips traveled from my ear, down my neck, to the shoulder that he'd bared, which he kissed, then bit, just as he had my earlobe.

I was awash in arousal by that time, and the shameless part of my nature was eager for him to continue, but he took a deep breath instead and settled back against my pillow and pulled me into his arms, settling my head against his shoulder. He was a good man, an honorable man, and it wasn't in his nature to take advantage of me…no matter how much I might have wanted him to.

"I reckon that you wouldn't have asked me to stop, and I didn't want to either, but the time ain't right for me to continue, darlin'," he said, his voice still low and rough, and I smiled happily when I heard and felt his pounding heart beneath my ear. "It doesn't mean that I'm rejecting you, because I'm not, and you wanting me to take you in my arms and lay you down doesn't mean that you're a 'wanton hussy' either, Emma….."

"Yes, I am sweetheart," I interrupted, snuggling close in his arms and laying my hand, protectively, over his heart. "But only with you."


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Emma's POV

A powerful rumbling woke me from a deep sleep, and I was sad to see it go, because I was dreaming of Forrest. We'd been picnicking beside a lake, feeding one another from the bounty that I'd filled our hamper with, something that had started innocently enough, but which had quickly turned to that which was tempting and sensual, and the next thing I knew I'd suggested that we go skinny-dipping, which was surely something that I'd never do, and I'd been waiting in the water, watching with wide eyes as Forrest stripped down to his undershirt and pants, then further, slowly, piece by piece, until only his boxers remained and then…..

...and then the cursed rumbling, which originated in my tummy, woke me, right when I was getting to the best part of the dream.

The room was fully swathed in darkness, so much so that I couldn't make out the time on the clock that rested atop my dresser, but I figured that it couldn't be more than one in the morning. Forrest was snoring softly, and holding me tightly in his arms, just like he always did while we slept, so I was nice and cozy, and very sleepy, but I was also aroused, due to that dream that I'd been enjoying, and I was also very hungry, which was what had woken me in the first place, but there was something that I could do about that, if I wanted to, the only dilemma that remained was how I could get free of Forrest's arms without waking him.

It was a silly thing to worry about, because it was unlikely that he would judge me harshly, or tease me for wanting a snack in the middle of the night, but I was reluctant for him to know that I didn't have the willpower to hold out until an appropriate hour arrived for me to break my fast. It was especially difficult on this night, when I knew that there was a jar filled to the brim with sugar cookies waiting for me downstairs.

His hold on me was a firm one, which I normally liked, when I was asleep, but which proved itself inconvenient when I wanted to sneak out of bed. I tried to loosen his grip with my hand on his forearm, but he mumbled something unintelligible and tightened his hold. No matter how I struggled, I couldn't free myself, and then I arched back against him as I strove to escape, and the softness of my backside rubbed against something that was very hard, a caress that made him moan deep in his throat and I froze in place, my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

"Hmm, sweet girl," he murmured, moving his hand, until it rested precariously, and thrillingly, close to my breast. "So soft, hmm, so pretty… Emma."

He pressed that spot that had grown hard against my bottom and groaned, moving his hand closer and closer until it finally made contact with my breast, his calloused palm snagging on my satin slip, then further, to kiss against my nipple, which was almost painfully sensitive, due to my arousal, and though I loved the feel of his hands on my body I couldn't help but panic, and I rolled away from him as he turned onto his back, thrusting my pillow into his arms so that he'd be less likely to wake, and then I hurried out of my room and down the stairs, damn near killing myself in the process when I tripped and almost went tumbling down the staircase head first.

"For heaven's sake, pull yourself together," I chastised myself as I blindly felt my way through the dining room and past the counter, into the kitchen. I flipped on the light and squinted while my eyes adjusted to the glare of the bare bulb that hung in the center of the room and smiled happily when my eyes lighted upon the stoneware jar that I'd filled with cookies…a smile which quickly grew to a frown when I uncovered the jar and peered inside…and found five cookies waiting for me at the bottom.

"Oh, someone's head is going to roll for this," I muttered, feeling positively porcine as I took every last cookie out of the jar and placed them on a plate, after which I retrieved the quart of milk from the icebox, thinking to myself that it wouldn't be missed, and even if it was, all I'd have to do was mention the jarful of cookies that had suddenly disappeared, as if by magic, and that would be enough to quiet anyone, that being Howard or Jack, who dared to open their mouth on the subject. "That is, _two_ heads are going to roll, to be sure….."

"Hmm…I hope that one of 'em ain't mine," he said, from the doorway of the kitchen, his voice rough with sleep, and touched by a fair amount of humor. "I'm kind of fond of the notion of it staying right where it's at, if you don't mind too much, darlin'."

I whirled around to face him, the plate of cookies in one hand, the quart of milk in the other, with a face that was positively flaming while I struggled to find an excuse, any excuse that would help me to explain myself, but any and every coherent thought that I might have brought to life fled me completely at the sight of him standing in the doorway, in his undershirt and boxer shirts, with his arms crossed over his chest and a half smile curving his lips.

"Is one of those cookies mine, Emma?" he asked, and I felt the blush on my face deepen, and travel downward, at the sound of his gruff voice saying my name. "I'm feeling mighty famished, and would think of it as a kindness, if you were to share your snack with me."

Hmm…was it my imagination, or perhaps the fact that the hour was late, and I was very tired, or had the words that he'd just spoken have more meaning behind them? I couldn't say for certain, but I had a feeling that he was referring to _me_ when he mentioned the cookies, and being famished for a snack, but why would Forrest choose to be coy now, when he'd never done so in the past?

"Well, I couldn't be expected to eat five cookies all on my lonesome, now could I?" I asked, crossing the floor, painfully aware of the fact that my bosom was moving and shaking beneath the bodice of my slip like a bowl filled with Jell-O. "Not unless I wanted to seem like a glutton, that is."

He smiled at me, and didn't try to hide the way that his eyes traveled the length of my body, from head-to-toe, then back again, before he settled his attention on my jiggling breasts. "I don't think that would make you a _glutton_ if you was to eat all of 'em yourself," he murmured, his eyes growing a darker shade of green, which confused me, until I realized that my nipples had made their presence known beneath the thin fabric that covered them. "But I'll split 'em with you anyways, if you want me to."

He was really starting to confuse me, because one minute I thought that he was making a pass at me, and the next minute I thought that he really and truly was referring to the cookies, and only to the cookies. I was still somewhat worked up from the dream that I'd had and the way that he'd touched me while I struggled to free myself from his embrace, but I wasn't certain whether or not I ought to be the one who made the first move, so I contented myself with handing him a cookie instead, and felt the most curious feeling take hold of me, down low, between my thighs, when I watched him slip the sweet between his lips.

"Do you want a bite, darlin'?" he whispered, holding the cookie out to my mouth and nodding when I hesitated to bite into it. "It's good, isn't it?"

I nodded dumbly, transfixed by the huskiness of his voice, and the heat of him as he pressed close against me and took the bottle of milk from my hand, then raised it to his lips, swallowing half of it in one gulp. "Now the milk," he murmured, holding the cold bottle to my lips, and I took what he offered, though not nearly as much as he himself had drank. "There's nothing better, is there, Emma?"

"Well, I don't know about that," I said, without thinking, and wished that I'd kept my mouth shut, though, at the same time, I was glad that I hadn't, even if he wanted me to explain myself to him, which he did, of course.

"Hmm…you don't?" he asked, raising the bottle to his lips, those beautiful lips that felt so wonderful against mine, and swallowing the last swig of milk. "Are you saying that there's something that's better than that?" he asked, rubbing his hand against his lips. "And if you are, can you tell me what that might be, darlin'?"

I can't say how I knew that I needed to set the plate down, all that I knew was that I had an urge to do so, and I moved away from him, across the room, to set it on the counter. I'd just turned loose of it when I felt him standing behind me, I felt his warmth and his strength…I felt his body responding to me the same way that it had earlier, in my bed, before I'd pulled myself out of his arms, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to arch back against him, as I'd done before, though, in hindsight, it might not have been the wisest thing, given the way that he growled deep in his throat as my softness caressed his hardened flesh…

Forrest's POV

I couldn't say for certain what sort of marriage had taken place between Emma and that dimwit Walton Cantrell, but I was fairly certain that there'd been no passion between the two of them, because each and every time that the fire kindled to life between us it seemed to take her by surprise. Of course, if the truth were to be told, I didn't know all that much about lust either, but I was a fast learner, and I was very eager to discover all that there was to know.

Of course, at times like the present, and earlier, up in her bed, I would have sworn that she was trying to kill me, or, at the very least, to cause me a lot of pain. I'd been having the most wonderful dream about her, I'd felt her pressed tight against the aching part of my body, but when I'd awakened I'd found that I was holding her pillow instead of her, and the knowledge that I'd been rubbing my pecker against a down filled bit of cotton had been a tad bit harsh on my pride, to say the very least. But now she was here with me, and there was nowhere for her to go, not unless she wanted me to chase her 'round and 'round the kitchen, that is.

"You left me," I said, sliding my arm around her waist and drawing her back more firmly against my body. "I woke up and you were gone, and I was all alone in that bed. Why'd you do that, darlin'?"

It dawned on me that I might have been pushing things too far, too fast, and that I maybe I ought to back off a bit, but she nipped that doubt in the bud by shimmying against me and making a sound, a cross between a gasp and a sigh, that made me growl deep in my throat. Yep, she was definitely trying to kill me, there was no other explanation that made any sense…unless…no, it couldn't be possible that she was encouraging me to take things a step further, could it?

It had been another blow to my pride, to see that the thing that had lured her from my embrace was a jar of cookies and a quart of milk, but now that I thought about it, I realized that this reality was better than any of the others I might have dreamed up, and her late-night snack gave me the means necessary to take the first tentative steps toward wooing her back into my arms.

"I was hungry," she said softly, in a voice that held more than a fair share of embarrassment, and I wondered why she felt self-conscious about wanting a little snack in the middle of the night. Lord knows I'd tiptoed downstairs and helped myself to what was in the icebox often enough, and as far as I knew it wasn't a sinful or shameful thing to do so, but maybe women viewed these things in a different way than men did. "I didn't want to leave you, but my tummy was rumbling….."

"There ain't no need for you to feel embarrassed, darlin'," I told her, turning her in my arms and moving her with me, toward the table that rested in the middle of the room. "There ain't no shame in wanting a nibble of this or that during the night. As a matter of fact, I could use a few more tastes myself, if that would be alright with you."

I don't know where I got my daring from, but I smiled and shook my head at her when she looked over her shoulder at the plate of sweets that she'd left on the counter. "I don't mean that I want a taste of the cookies, Emma. I mean, they are delicious, there's no doubting that, but what I had in mind is a mite bit sweeter, and a lot more satisfying."

I lifted her onto the table, enjoying the way that her breasts moved beneath the satin of her gown as secretively as I could, and then stepped close, to stand between her knees. "You were right when you said that there was something better than the milk, better than the cookies, and that's what I'd like to explore with you, darlin', if you're of a mind to try it, that is."

Her eyes widened as I moved closer to her, pulling her forward on the table, so that my body was resting between her thighs. "To try what?" she asked softly, breathlessly…innocently. How was it possible that she was so naïve, after all, she'd been a married woman, and had to know something of what I was speaking of, didn't she? That being said, how was it that I was able to be so bold, when I'd never been that way at any other time in my life?

"I mean to make a study of you, Emma," I said, groaning deep in my throat when I saw that the tips of her breasts had grown hard and were making themselves known through the fabric of her slip. "I won't rush you, or myself, because I mean to take my time, so that I won't miss anything, but there are things that I aim to do, feelings that I mean to explore, that will take us beyond all that we've known up until this point. Will that be alright with you, darlin?"

I could see the battle between what she wanted and what was proper that was taking place in her eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief when she nodded and laid her hand on my cheek. "I want that too," she said, bending forward, to place her lips against mine. "I feel a powerful need to be close to you, Forrest," she murmured, making me groan when she ran the tip of her tongue across my bottom lip, then growl when she bit it softly, and pulled it onto her mouth, to suckle upon it. "And I mean to make just as thorough a study of you, provided that I'm allowed to do so at a pace that doesn't scare me."

I slowly laid her back on the table and pulled her forward, 'til her backside was resting on the edge. "I ain't going to rush you into anything, Emma," I reassured her, bending to kiss her until we were both breathless. "The best things in life are meant to be savored, and are ruined when you experience them too quickly. We've got all the time in the world, darlin', we can take as long as we want, so don't worry about things moving too fast, alright?"

She nodded, then her eyelids fluttered closed when I moved lower, to press my mouth against her neck. She smelled so good, just like she always did, and I slowly kissed my way down her throat, tasting her, testing her, marking her gently with my teeth. I reached her shoulder, and the strap of her slip, which I moved aside, so that I could give every inch of her the same attention that I'd given her neck.

Her breathing seemed to freeze when she felt me move her strap down, then it returned in a rush when I lowered the strap even further, taking it down her arm, followed by the slow folding of her bodice, until the slope of her breast was bared to my lips. Her skin was soft all over, so different from my own, but I couldn't believe how silky this part of her felt against my lips, and I couldn't have made myself stop kissing her, unless she asked me to, that is…but she didn't.

"Don't stop," she whimpered, then grew quiet as her face grew as ruby red as a ripe tomato. "Well, what I mean is that, er, you don't have to stop, you can, well, you can…oh, for heaven's sake…just pretend that I didn't say anything at all, okay?"

I might have laughed, had I not known that doing so would undoubtedly humiliate her. It fired my blood, to know that she wanted my lips on the tip of her breast, and I was happy to accommodate her. I took a deep breath, to strengthen my resolve, and bared her fully to my gaze, and my breath escaped me in a shudder, followed by a smile.

"Hmm…would you look at that," I said, filling my eyes with the sight of her. "I don't reckon that I've seen anything prettier than the way you look right now."

Her blush grew, spreading down to color her bosom, but this wasn't a flush of self-consciousness or embarrassment, but was instead one of pleasure, and just a little bit of pride. "I'm glad you like it," she whispered. "Though I imagine there's nothing special to be seen. I would bet that there's a hundred other women who look just the same, maybe even better….."

"Hmm…that just shows that I'm a bit more learned about these things than you are, darlin'," I said, bending to kiss her lips, then, very softly, the rosy crest that was standing up so proudly and practically begging for a little attention. "I know for a fact that there isn't anything, on any woman, that even comes close…but I could be mistaken, couldn't I? I suppose I ought to study you a little further before I make my decision, wouldn't you agree?"

"If you think that would be best," she said breathlessly, then whimpered, then softly cried out my name as my lips closed around her flesh, a cry that grew louder in pitch as I circled it with the tip of my tongue and suckled it, just like a baby would.

Yes, I did think that it was best…even though I already knew the answer. It was the wisest policy, to double-check the facts, and do as thorough a study as you could, when something was of the utmost importance, and that was just what I intended to do, even if it took me all night.

A man could always hope, couldn't he?


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Forrest's POV

I had always known that Emma was a beautiful woman, I'd known that since I was of an age to notice all of the possibilities that the female figure held for a red-blooded, virile man. When we were young she was lovely in a fresh-faced, innocent way, with big brown eyes that sparkled happily come any time, day or night, but most of that had faded as we'd grown older. Now she was stunning in a way that said she'd survived a great deal, that she was no longer naïve, and her eyes didn't always shine the way that had at one time, but when they did it was a sight to behold…just as they were at that moment, while she held Annie Howe's youngest child.

The child had a pixie look to her, and her hair was golden, just like her Mama's, with matching blue eyes, that were filled with equal amounts of glee and orneriness. It hadn't taken long for her to wrap Emma around her tiny finger, and it hit me hard, like a ton of bricks, right in the middle of my gut, when I realized that this was the most beautiful that she'd ever looked, and before I knew what was what I was picturing her holding our child cradled in her arms, our baby held in her small hands…with a golden wedding band gracing the third finger of her left hand.

It wasn't the first time that I'd imagined her as my wife, truth be told I'd studied on that scenario a good deal throughout my life, but this was the first time that I'd done so when the prospect for such a thing happening was good. She was my sweetheart now, I had a good notion that it wouldn't be too much longer before we became lovers in every sense of the word, and call me old-fashioned, but I wasn't the sort of man who'd be happy with being bedded, but not churched, and I had an idea that my Emma wasn't the sort of woman who'd be pleased with that sort of arrangement either, so I reckoned it wouldn't be too much longer 'til we walked through this world as man and wife.

"Maisie want cookie, Miss Emma," the child said, placing both of her tiny hands on my girl's face and rubbing them up and down while she giggled. "Can Maisie have cookie, please?"

I leaned back against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest while I watched Emma put together a snack for the little one, and recalled, with the beginnings of a smile curving my lips and undoubtedly a gleam of fondness in my eyes, the moment that had passed between the two of us in the kitchen, when what had started as a taste of milk and cookies had quickly led to me getting an eyeful, not to mention a mouthful, of my sweet girl's pretty rosebuds.

She was concentrated on the towheaded little imp with an infectious giggle, and hadn't been paying me much attention at all, which had made me just a tiny bit jealous, but suddenly she raised her eyes to look at me, and I couldn't help but blush when I saw the knowing look that was there, and the arousal that laid just beneath it, and it seemed in that moment like we were the only ones in the room, but unfortunately we weren't, which meant that she was being particularly cruel when she decided to start teasing me.

"Could I have a bite of your cookie, Miss Maisie?" she asked nicely, smiling at the child in a way that, had it been me she was beaming at, would have convinced me to give her anything and everything her heart desired. "It looks so yummy, and I'm awfully hungry."

The girl giggled and nodded, and broke off half of the cookie for her new best friend, then scampered down off of her stool and chased after one of her brothers, leaving her glass of milk untouched, and Emma sitting on the seat next to the one that she'd abandoned. She was facing me, with her legs crossed, all prim and proper, but then she smiled again, one that was filled with the sort of sentiment that set my heart to racing, and placed the cookie between her teeth, taking a small, delicate bite, and chased it with a drink of the milk, all while holding me captive with her big brown eyes, staring at me over the top of the glass.

She finished the milk in record time, then turned to set the glass on the counter behind her, but not before she used the index and middle fingers of her left hand to wipe away the splashes of white on, and around, her lips, then, without a thought to anyone who might have been watching who wasn't me, she licked them clean with her tongue, and the slight swelling that had started up in my trousers became a full-blown throbbing uprising, one which was undoubtedly noticeable to the whole damned dining room, but I was beyond caring who could or could not see my reaction to her. World War Two could have broken out right next to me and I wouldn't have even flinched…well, maybe I would have flinched just a little, but I would have turned right back to Emma afterward.

Most days I was a man who had no patience at all for anyone who whined or made a big fuss, or said that something in their life wasn't fair. Most times I was inclined to wallop said person, well, I was if they were my little brother Jack, who had a habit of bitching and moaning over every little thing that you told him to do, but this was one of those rare moments where I felt like saying the dreaded words myself, _that's not fair_. She had to have known what she was doing to me, and even more than that, she had to know that teasing me the way that she was, when there wasn't a damned thing that I could do about it, was just plain mean, and I let her in on that fact by scowling at her.

I don't know what I'd been expecting her to do, but I can say with all certainty that I hadn't expected her to wink at me, then giggle, which suggested that my show of temper was amusing to her. I wasn't accustomed to anyone laughing at me when I was angry, and I could say, with all certainty, that I didn't care for her doing so at all. Of course, I also wasn't a man given to saying that something wasn't fair, or that someone was being _mean_ to me either, and it bothered me to realize how many bad habits I'd picked up of late.

I let her have her fun, I let her get herself in deep with the notion that she had me right where she wanted me, and then I slowly made my way across the room, ignoring the swelling in my britches as best as I could, and it gave me the smallest hint of satisfaction to see her smile falter just the tiniest bit, even though it made me kind of sad as well. She had been playing with me, but I couldn't believe that she'd done so with a genuine desire to cause me pain, and I didn't want her to be scared of me, and of the mind that I would retaliate against her in a way that was cruel…though I did have the idea that I would pay her back before the day was through.

I stood in front of the stool that she was perched upon for just a moment, until she started nervously chewing on her bottom lip, and then I pulled her off of the seat and up against me, in a way that wasn't close enough to be indecent, but that was near enough that she couldn't help but feel the proof of my arousal rubbing against her softness, against the warmth that I knew was growing hotter with each moment that passed by.

"Hmm…are you having fun, darlin'?" I asked softly, leaning forward, to place my lips next to her ear, so that she'd be sure to hear each and every word that I said. "Because it seemed to me that you were taking a lot of pleasure out of what you were doing to me, and I have a good idea that you were doing it on purpose too. Is that the way of it, hmm, Emma, or am I mistaken in my beliefs?"

She took a deep breath, one that sounded like a gasp, and I knew that the feel of my lips just barely caressing her earlobe, the warmth of my breath as I spoke, as it touched upon her skin, excited her, that it sparked a response in her that was similar to the one that had taken hold of me. She raised her hand and laid it on my waist, right above the top of my pants, and curled her fingertips against the fabric of my sweater.

"I guess I was teasing you a bit, wasn't I?" she murmured, her breath catching, her fingertips grasping me tightly when I nibbled on the tip of her earlobe. "But it wasn't an empty gesture, honey, because I meant every bit of it…I just didn't think about, well, what I mean is, that it didn't dawn on me, at the moment, that there was nothing that we could do right now, with all of these customers, and all of those who'll keep swarming in until closing time. I guess that was kind of mean of me, wasn't it, not to mention really stupid….."

"Hmm…I ain't a man given to speaking harshly to a woman, darlin', but you'd do well to stop saying those sorts of things about yourself," I warned her, moving away from her with some difficulty, knowing that it was essential that I do so while I still possessed the willpower. "You're not mean and you sure as hell ain't stupid, and I don't ever want to hear you say those sorts of things about yourself ever again. Are we clear on that, Emma?"

She kept her hand on my waist as I took two steps away from her, until I stopped, and then she moved it so that it rested on my chest, on top of the spot where my heart was pounding. "We are," she said softly, raising her fingertips to her lips, to kiss them, before she touched them to the scar that traveled from one side of my neck to the other, and then back to my chest. "I just wanted you to know that I never meant to get you going and leave you feeling frustrated. I've noticed that I'm having more and more difficulty in keeping myself from doing these sorts of things whenever you're around. You must think I'm a tease, you probably think that I'm a floozy….."

I smiled at her and rubbed the tip of my nose against hers. "Hmm…you are a tease," I agreed, touching her lips with mine. "But I aim to pay you back for that later on tonight, and though I'd have to say that _floozy_ doesn't exactly fit you, I would say that you're showing a predilection toward being a little minx, but you're _my_ minx, and I ain't likely to complain any time soon."

She started to kiss me back, but her eyes shifted to something, or, rather, to some_one_ who was standing beside us, and she blushed, a light pink to begin with, then a rose red that spread down her throat. It irritated me to no end that someone would interrupt us, and I assumed that it was Jack who'd done so, given that he had a reputation for doing that sort of thing, but when I turned to scowl at him I found Maisie instead. The little scamp had her tiny fists balled up and resting on her hips and one of her bare, grimy feet pounding out a furious rhythm on the floor, while she shook her head at me in the manner of an irate schoolmarm.

"Hmm…is there something that I can do for you, young lady?" I growled, smiling inside, where she couldn't see it, when I saw her lose a little of her daring. I had a good idea that Emma didn't care for the tone that I'd used with the child, but I didn't mean the girl any harm. I wasn't accustomed to the company of little ones, but I didn't mind them hanging around the place, just so long as they stayed out of trouble and didn't make a mess. Truth be told, I kind of enjoyed having them around, but there wasn't any reason why I should let anyone in on that secret, was there?

"I was wanting some more milk and cookies, Mr. Forrest," she said, tucking her hands behind her back and turning her foot back and forth on the floor, while she batted her baby blues at me. "Is that why you was kissing Miss Emma, huh, so that she would give you some goodies?"

Truer words had never been spoken. I suppose that saying about the mouths of babes held a good deal of wisdom, didn't it?

Emma's POV

He was downstairs, checking the locks before he headed up to bed, which gave me a moment to myself, a short period of time for me to contemplate what might happen between us before we went to sleep. I'd already accepted the fact that we were tiny steps away from being lovers in every sense of the word, and if the truth were to be known I was looking forward to that moment, very much so, but what would Forrest say, what would he think, when he discovered my guilty little secret?

This wasn't the first time that I'd cursed Walton's memory, but this was the first time that I'd done so because the truth of his lifestyle was bound to cause problems between me and the one that I loved. Of course, I couldn't help but be grateful to my departed husband, for never taking from me what I'd always wanted to give to Forrest alone, but how on earth could I possibly explain certain things that were still intact, when they ought to have been rent years ago, should he notice when the moment arrived…and he was bound to notice. He might be a quiet man, but he wasn't an oblivious one. He noticed everything, and how was I going to tell him the truth, when telling the truth was the last thing that I could possibly do?

The bedroom door opened slowly, and for just a moment he stood there and looked at me, smiling in a way that made my heartbeat still, then race, and a quivery feeling took hold of me, low in my belly, to begin with, then down further, a sweet fluttering between my thighs. I'd donned one of my long slips, just as I did every night, but beneath it I was wickedly bare, and the soft fabric caressing me intimately made the trembling all the stronger.

I had a good idea that he meant to pay me back for teasing him earlier in the day, but what did that mean? Would he refuse to touch me altogether, or would he torment me with his mouth and his hands instead, only to leave me wanting, as I'd been this morning, after what had happened in the kitchen? I'd fully expected him to take things further, possibly even as far as they could be taken, but he'd held off, which had left me achy and wanting, but strangely grateful as well, as my secret was mine alone for just a little longer.

He crossed the room, his eyes never leaving mine, while he slowly stripped down to his boxer shorts. My eyes hungrily traveled the length of his body, thinking, not for the first time, that he was beautiful, so much so that it had to be sinful, even with the scars that showed themselves here and there. I wanted to touch each and every one of them, I wanted to kiss them, and memorize them, to know him inside and out. His scars were signs of life, they were character and survival, and there was a story in each one of them, and a reminder of how fortunate I was, to hold him each night, when he could have been taken before I had the opportunity to do so.

He crawled between the covers and drew me into his arms, sighing deeply as I wound my arms around him and cuddled close. I knew that he was a man who was unaccustomed to being held and kissed, just as he wasn't used to someone talking pretty to him, but I also knew that he reveled in it as well, just as I did, and I found that it was increasingly difficult to keep my hands off of him, not that he was inclined to complain anytime soon, I would imagine.

We stayed that way for a while, just snuggling with one another, and then he started to kiss me, softly and gently to begin with, then with a growing hunger, one that I felt taking hold of me as well, one that made me lightheaded and breathless and made the ache between my thighs grow stronger and stronger, until it seemed to have a life all its own. His tongue slipped between my lips and I met it with my own, drawing in his bottom lip, so that I could nip it with my teeth, and I felt a wicked thrill course through me when I heard him moan, then growl in response.

He had me flat on my back in an instant and hovered over me, staring down at me with eyes that were filled with the heat of his desire, and then he bent to trace his mouth down my throat, biting me on the spot where my neck met with my shoulder, which made me whimper and arch my hips off of the bed, and then his hands slid beneath the straps of my slip, slowly dragging them down, then off of my arms, dragging the bodice down as well, to bare my breasts, the tips of which were standing straight up, practically begging for a kiss.

He was happy to oblige them, and me, bending his head to take one of them into his mouth, while his fingertips found, and teased its twin. It was kind of embarrassing, to know that I'd had no knowledge that such a thing was possible for a woman to experience with a man until the age of thirty, but it was thrilling as well, to be so new to all of this. I just wished that I wasn't quite so vocal with my enthusiasm, though he seemed to enjoy the way that I writhed and mewled, so maybe it wasn't so shameful after all.

His fingertips moved away from the nipple that they'd been plucking, drawing a whimper of protest from me, but it was one that froze in my throat when I felt his hand sliding down, over my tummy, further and further, until he found, and drew up, the hem of my slip, slowly revealing me, my knees, then my thighs, until my makeshift gown was bunched at my waist, and his hand was resting between my legs, just a whisper away from my most private and secret place.

"Shh, darlin'," he said, soothing me when I let loose with a tiny cry of embarrassment. "There's no reason for you to be scared, Emma. I'm not going to take things too far. I just want to try something that I've been studying on for a good long while, but only if you want me to, only if you trust me to."

I did trust him, and I shouldn't have wanted him to, but I did, and that was why I took a deep breath and parted my thighs for him, to give him better access to that which was crying out for his touch. My breath stilled as he moved closer, then left me in a gasp when I felt the first stroke of his calloused flesh, so warm and gentle against me.

"Oh, Emma," he said softly, almost reverently as he slowly and surely deepened his touch, opening me so that he could learn the contour of me, the extent and the texture of the source of my femininity. "I love you so much, my darlin' girl. I always have, and now you're all mine, aren't you?"

I felt tears gathering in my eyes, three droplets that coursed down my cheeks when his fingers found, and caressed, a spot at the crown of my sex, one that sent a jolt of sensation coursing through me. "I love you too, Forrest," I gasped, clutching at his shoulders, needing something to hold, while he built and kindled the fire within me. "I've always been yours, only yours and that's all that I'll ever be, just like you'll always be mine."

I wasn't certain what it was that he was touching, I'd never learned its proper name, but I did know that his fingertips worked a magic that my own had never been capable of. His lips found mine, and tantalized me, while he stroked and spoiled that tiny little button, working it into a frenzy, one that had me writhing and arching my hips off of the bed, one that consumed me, and controlled me, building and growing, until every breath that I drew was a whimper.

"Help me, Forrest," I said, clinging to him and working myself against his hand. "Please do something, honey….."

"Shh, darlin', just let it happen," he said, moving to nibble my earlobe. "It's right there, Emma, just wait for it….."

I knew about the _it_ that he was referring to, I'd discovered it as a teen, or, at least I thought I had, but then something seized hold of me, it exploded throughout me, concentrated between my thighs, then spreading outward in a rhythm of furious bursts that made me cry out his name, that made me scream it, and I realized that I hadn't had the slightest notion of all that was possible where these feelings were concerned.

He gradually lightened his touch, moving in time with my fading release, until I was gasping for breath and slowly calming, and then he drew me into his arms, holding me close while I quieted, kissing my forehead and nuzzling his nose against me, while he murmured endearments and words of love. I marveled at the fact that something so amazing was possible for a man and a woman…until it dawned on me that I was the only one who'd truly experienced that fiery respite, and I slowly became aware of his hardened flesh pressed up against me.

He looked confused as I pulled out of his embrace, then his eyes widened as I lowered my hand off of his chest, sliding down, over the hardened planes of his stomach, down toward the waistband of his boxers. "What're you doing, darlin'?" he asked, his voice rough and choked, part nervousness, part excitement as I slipped my fingertips beneath the elastic. "Hmm…you don't have to do that Emma, hmm, I mean, I don't mind, hmm, but I don't expect…oh, God almighty….."

His halfhearted protests died with a groan, then a growl as I found him and took him in hand, marveling at the feel of him, the softness encasing that which was hard and throbbing for me. I felt powerful in that moment and I realized that I wanted him to experience all that I had, I knew that I wanted to witness him in that moment, I wanted to see him, and feel him and hear him and know that I was the one who was making him feel so good.

"You know what I'm doing, honey," I purred, bending to kiss him, while my fingertips stroked him from root to tip. "And I'm not doing it because I have to…I'm doing it because I want to."


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Emma's POV

I was glad that Forrest had chosen to drive his new Ford V-8 for our mysterious trip, because it provided a much smoother ride than his old pickup truck did, and I could sit still in the seat beside him, cuddled as close to him as I could reach, and not jiggle about, here and there, like a bowlful of Jell-O. There had been a time, earlier on in our courtship, when I wouldn't have dared to be so bold as to lay my hand high on his thigh while we drove along, but the events of late had made me a good deal brasher, and I kept my palm pressed against the muscles of his inner thigh, even caressing him every now and then, which made him gasp each and every time.

"Do I at least get to have a clue about where we're headed to?" I asked, turning toward him, and nuzzling my nose against his neck, then blowing on the tip of his earlobe. He made a funny sound deep in his throat, one that made a deliciously wicked shiver take hold of me between my thighs, and I started to giggle, but then the car swerved back and forth on the road and I knew that this wasn't a good time for me to indulge in a laugh.

"We'll be headed straight for the hospital if you keep that up, missy," he growled warningly and I started to move back away from him, to show him that I could behave if I had no other choice, but he stopped me by reaching down with his hand, which had been resting on my shoulder, to grab hold of me by my waist and pull me back against his side. "Hmm…but that don't mean that I want you to move away from me, now does it, darlin'?"

He was a man who enjoyed and appreciated cuddling, and that was a dream come true for me, because I would have been happy to spend the day doing so, if I could have. Of course, I had to pretend that it was a hardship for me, a bit of acting that was made complete by me sighing deeply before I returned to his side, which was a move that he punished by sliding his hand behind my back, and further, down to my bottom, which he pinched, then patted, very hard, with his palm.

"Hey, that hurt," I told him, reaching back to rub my hand against my smarting backside. My reaction was playacting, for the most part, though the tweak had stung, and the swat had been more forceful than a simple love pat would have been. "I don't think that was a very nice or gentlemanly thing for you to have done, Mr. Bondurant."

He slowly turned his head toward me and gave me a look that set my heart to pumping in a furious, thundering rhythm. "Hmm…I suppose that it wasn't, Miss Tyler," he murmured, pleasing me further by ignoring the name that I'd taken on the day that I married Walton. "Now then, either I can be courteous, and apologize for what I did, or I could kiss the spot that I hurt and make it feel all better… which would you like for me to do, darlin'?"

Oh, Lord. I could feel my face growing hotter and hotter, and the way that he was looking at me, paired with the words that he'd just spoken, made a tiny, quivery cadence burst to life between my thighs. "I suppose the ladylike thing for me to do would be to tell you to apologize, but I'm not feeling all that prim and proper, if you want to know the truth, and if you don't mind, I'd rather you kiss me instead."

He pushed down on the brakes with enough force to send me sliding forward on the seat, but he was holding me so tightly that I was in no danger of hitting the dashboard. There was just enough space on the side of the road for him to move the car out of the way of any traffic that might come by and he reached out and turned off the ignition, and then turned to take me into his arms, moving across the seat as he did, so that he was sitting in the middle, and then he placed me right on his lap, with one of my legs straddling each side of his body.

"I told myself that I was going to be good until we got to Eden," he said hoarsely, slowly sliding his hands beneath the hem of my dress, drawing it up, so that it was bunched around my hips. "I told myself that it wouldn't be right for me to lay a hand on you until we got there and could discuss something very important first, so that we wouldn't make any decisions in a fit and a fever, but it seems like my good intentions go right out the window every time that I'm around you, don't they, darlin'?"

I heard his words through the blood pounding in my ears, and my quickened breath and racing heart, and I tried to follow along with what he was saying, I really and truly did, but he wasn't making it very easy on me. I might have been more successful in my endeavor if he didn't insist on unzipping my dress and pulling it down in the front, along with my slip, to bare my breasts, but I wasn't all that inclined to complain, especially once I felt his calloused thumb rub across my nipple, and certainly not after he bent his head and took it into his mouth and suckled it until I was forced to move myself against his hand, the one that he'd slipped between my thighs sometime between my zipper being lowered and the steady, gentle clasping of his mouth.

"Oh, Forrest," I sighed, a soft sound that ended in a gasp, and then a whimper when I felt his fingers moving, searching, until they found their way inside of my panties. "That feels so good, honey. Please don't stop, oh, God…please don't stop."

I suppose that I ought to have been grateful that dusk was upon us, a little darkness that would serve to shield us from the scrutiny of an oncoming vehicle, should one pass us by, because there was no way that I could move away from him and hide myself, not when I felt his fingertip find, and caress, the little button that usually hid itself within the folds of my femininity.

"Hmm…don't worry, sweet baby," he murmured, moving his head, to take hold of my lips with his own. "I ain't going nowhere, Emma. We're staying right here until I'm sure that you've been satisfied, alright, darlin'?"

To answer him verbally would have been the polite thing to do, but I remembered that I'd already told him that I wasn't in a prim or proper mood, that much I could recall, beyond the rush of feelings that was taking hold of me and making me forget everything that wasn't immediately associated with him or me or the wicked and wonderful things that he was doing to me on the front seat of his car. I could hear the sounds that were rising from me as I relished each and every stroke of his fingertip, I could feel myself growing hotter and wetter, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't keep myself from arching into his hand, again and again, until at last my moment arrived, and I knew that I could have easily died from the intensity of my release, and if I had, I would have done so with a big smile on my face.

I wasn't too familiar with the goings-on between a woman and a man, and I wasn't certain whether or not it was normal for me to carryon like I was dying, but that was another one of those things that I couldn't have stopped, even if my life had depended on it. It was kind of embarrassing, to hear myself moaning and groaning and screaming his name loud enough to wake the dead, and I realized that I was prone to a good deal of blasphemy as well, despite the fact that I'd always been a reverent person, but I didn't think about those things then, in the moment. I never thought about it until later, when everything had quieted down, and then I would blush blood red, but only for a minute or so, and then a big smile of fond remembrance would take the place of the flush on my face.

I slowly grew quiet in his arms and raised my face from his neck to smile at him…a smile that slowly faded when I saw the heat of arousal that was strong in his eyes and the way that he was gritting his teeth while he struggled to return my smile. My body was still humming and glowing, and I could easily imagine that my own eyes were soft and sleepy, but I wasn't about to leave him in the state that he was in, not when I knew that I had the ability, and the desire, to make him feel everything that I had.

"I love you, Forrest," I whispered, leaning forward to kiss his neck, gently caressing his scar with my lips, and then, with the tip of my tongue, as I lowered my hand to his lap, boldly stroking him through his trousers, and kissing him when I heard him growl, and then moan. My fingers weren't practiced where freeing a man from the restraint of his britches was concerned, but I was a fast learner, and I made quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping, until the only barrier that remained between my hand and his flesh was the thin cotton of his boxer shorts.

"Hmm…Emma, darlin', I love you too," he said, in a voice was choked by an occasional groan. "But there's no need for you to do this. I'll be just fine, after a spell, and we need to get back on the road, if we're going to reach Eden at a decent hour…aw, Lord help me….."

His words died away, and he drew in a deep breath through teeth that were tightly clenched as I freed him completely and took him into my hand, tightening my palm around him, and working it up and down in a slow stroke, keeping my grip firm, until it reached the summit of his flesh, which I gently caressed, until he growled my name and grasped my bottom tightly in his hands, his hold tensing, then relaxing in rhythm with every embrace of my fist.

"We have all of the time in the world, honey, so sit back and relax," I told him, leaning forward to take hold of his lips with mine, my tongue finding the cadence of our hands. "I'm not going anywhere until I know that I have satisfied you as much as you pleasured me and that's all that I have to say about that."

Forrest's POV

Our trip to Eden, North Carolina ought to have taken an hour and a half to complete, but it took us a little over two hours to get there in the end. Most times I made an effort to be punctual and I was known to chew on the hind end of those who didn't endeavor to do the same, but this was one time that I wasn't inclined to gripe about running behind schedule. I just hoped that the old hen who owned the rooming house where Emma and I would be spending the night wouldn't take one look at my sweetheart's disheveled appearance and glowing eyes, or the big, dopey grin that covered most of my face, and guess the reason for why we were tardy.

"What are we doing here, honey?" Emma asked, turning to look at the big house that Mrs. Carter had owned with her husband, the one that she'd turned into an establishment that provided bed and grub for a set price after he had kicked the bucket three years before. "What have you got up hidden up your sleeve?"

My plans for this evening were half-assed, at best, but I was determined to be optimistic about the outcome. There was a small part of me that argued that I was wasting time, that I was rushing things, and that she'd tell me no in the end, but surprisingly enough I was determined to see it through anyway. I'd loused things up in the past by keeping my feelings to myself, and I'd be damned if I was going to do that again.

"Hmm…I know that you're accustomed to batting those pretty brown eyes at me and getting me to do exactly what you want me to, baby girl, but this is one time you're going to have to be patient and let things happen at _my _speed," I told her, glancing around, to make sure that we weren't being watched, before I reached out my hand to pat her on her backside. "I've got this all worked out, up to a point, that is, and you're just going to have to trust me, alright?"

She didn't bother to look around first, but she _did_ reach out to put her hand on my hind end, and she didn't make do with simply patting me either. She squeezed me instead, and I blushed, like an adolescent boy, and was thankful that it was too dark for anyone, including Emma, to see my flaming face.

"Of course I trust you," she said, slipping the hand that had just pinched my backside into the crook of my arm. "I'm just excited, that's all."

Hearing the word _excited_ made me remember what had happened in the car, and the blush on my face grew worse, and was undoubtedly making my face glow like a light bulb when we made our way inside, which was bad enough, considering that Emma and the landlady, Mrs. Carter, were witnessing my embarrassment, but there was also a group of people in the lobby, a flock of gray-haired old ladies, who were clucking and cackling when we came through the door, a racket that died in an instant the moment they saw us.

"Oh, there you are, Mr. Bondurant," Mrs. Carter said from her spot behind the counter that held her record book and framed pictures of her late husband, E.B. I had heard all about him on my last visit, the one that I'd made to make arrangements for this night. He'd been quite a character, if his wife's stories were to be believed, but she'd obviously adored him, hence the pictures…and the fancy vase filled with water, where she kept the old geezer's false teeth. "I was starting to think that you might not make it, but here you are just the same, with Mrs. Bondurant, and she's just as lovely as you promised, isn't she, girls?"

I didn't dare look at Emma, to gauge her reaction to the news that I'd told Mrs. Carter that she was my wife, but it had seemed like the best thing for me to do at the time. The landlady was a friendly woman, but I knew a gossip when I saw one, and I'd known in an instant that Mrs. Carter and her 'girls' were undoubtedly the biggest chinwags 'round these parts, and I wasn't about to have them telling tales to whoever would listen about my Emma.

In the end my girl went along with the ruse, chatting and making a fuss over all of the hens, Mrs. Carter included, while I signed the register and collected the key to our room. It took me a few minutes to grab her away from them, but I had plans for this night, and they didn't involve spending our time in the company of a bunch of gossipy old women…whose whispers and giggles followed me and Emma as we made our way up the stairs to our room.

I wasn't certain what we would find waiting for us, I knew that things would be nice and tidy, but I had visions of flowers and frilly things filling my head, and I was glad to see that the only posies to be found were sitting on top of the bureau, in one of those fancy vases like the one that E.B. Carter's teeth were having their eternal rest in. The bed was bigger than the one that we shared back home, and brought to mind all sorts of wickedness, especially since Emma insisted on jumping on it as soon as the door closed behind us.

The noise of the women downstairs had died down some as we moved away from them, but the sound of the bedsprings squeaking as Emma bounced up and down on the mattress killed them altogether, and I had a horrible vision of them tiptoeing up the stairs to press their ears against the door. Maybe this place hadn't been the best for what I had in mind after all, but I damn sure wasn't about to leave without doing what I'd come to do.

"Well, don't just stand there with that suitcase in your hands, Forrest Bondurant," she said cheekily, sitting halfway up on the bed and placing her hands against the bedspread while she gave me a look that was downright seductive in nature. "This bed is nice and comfortable and your _wife_ wants you to lie down and enjoy its possibilities with her."

Aw, hell, there was nothing that I would have liked more than to do just that, but I couldn't let her distract me, not until I said what I'd been practicing and planning for the past week. "I figured that we'd have less problems, less gossip being spread, if I told her that you were my wife," I explained, bending to place the suitcase on the floor. "Though I suppose I ought to have realized that a bunch of old hens were bound to find something to cackle about, isn't that right?"

She laughed and sat up all the way, then slid to the edge of the bed. "I think that they're all just a little bit smitten with you is all," she said, patting the mattress beside her. "I'll wager that it's been awhile since they've had a handsome man in their midst, and I reckon you set their hearts to pounding by smiling at them. Chances are that they'll be thinking of that tonight and be jealous of me….."

"Aw, hush," I said, moving toward the bed. I was embarrassed by the notion that a bunch of women who were all old enough to be a granny to me were thinking of me in any way that might be called fond or appreciative, though I could bear it easily enough, I suppose, if it meant hearing that Emma thought that I was handsome. "They might as well save their time and efforts, because _my_ heart belongs to someone else."

It was now or never, the moment was right, all I had to do was remember what I'd practiced. I bent to kiss her, tasting her until she was breathing harder and leaning toward me, and then I knelt down on the floor and took her hands in mine. I stared into her eyes and stroked my thumbs across the silken softness of her skin…and completely forgot what it was that I'd meant to say to her.

I shouldn't have been surprised, I suppose. My mind and mouth were always failing me when I needed them, but did they really have to do that now, when I needed their cooperation the most? "Hmm…I've never been all that good at telling people how I feel," I said quietly, my mind racing to find the script that I'd planned, but it seemed that I'd have to do things off of the cuff, whether I wanted to or not. "If I'd been more open with you then things would have gone a lot differently, for both of us, but it doesn't do any good to dwell on the past, does it?"

She reached out her hand and stroked my cheek, then traced her thumb across my mouth. "We all have our regrets, Forrest, but it's best to think about what's happening right now, and what you want in the future, instead of living in the past. And you might have been quiet about your feelings at one time, honey, but you've gotten good at telling me about how you feel now, haven't you?"

I smiled at her and leaned my face against her hand, relishing the caress, while I slipped my hand into the pocket of my sweater and closed it around the ring that I'd bought for her. I'd done quite a bit of traveling the past week, to make all of the plans for this night, and to find a ring that I thought was fine enough to rest on her finger, and I knew that I had to show it to her now, before I lost all of my nerve.

"It wasn't hard for me to imagine you as my wife, because that's what I've always wanted you to be," I said, taking her left hand in mine and sliding the ring into place on her finger. "I should have told you that years ago, but I'm telling you now that I love you, and what I want to know is, will you marry me, Emma?"

She was quiet for a moment, then I saw that her eyes were brimming with tears and her lip was trembling, and I thought that I'd made a terrible mistake. But then she threw herself forward, off of the bed and into my arms, knocking me flat on my butt while she pressed her lips all over my face and whispered the one word that I'd longed to hear, seconds before she screamed it over and over again…and damned if I didn't hear giggling right outside of the door, from the vicinity of the hall, where I now knew, with all certainty, that a gaggle of lovelorn old ladies were rating my expertise as a lover.

I suddenly remembered something that I needed to do; something that was bound to get a reaction out of Emma that would really and truly set the hens to cackling. I moved her back away from me, and then turned her so that she was laying facedown across my lap, and then I reached down and grabbed the hem of her dress, bringing it up, so that I was one step closer to baring her backside.

"Forrest, what on earth are you doing?" she asked in a voice that was filled with what might have been fear, which I might have heeded, had there not been excitement in her tone as well.

"Hmm…I'm giving you what you asked for, darlin'," I answered, peeling away the layers of cotton and lace that covered her bottom, baring it to my gaze, which was very appreciative of the sight that caused my pecker to knock against the fly of my britches. "I hurt you earlier, and now I'm going to kiss it and make it all better."


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Forrest's POV

I wasn't a man who was known for my skills where conversation was concerned. I wasn't the type who felt comfortable jabbering and jawing about this and that, just so there wouldn't be any silence in the room. I'd never been one for sitting back with the fellas, sipping from a jar of corn, whiling away the hours by shooting the breeze and cracking wise. That being said, I wasn't a man who was quiet because I was the nervous sort, and though I definitely preferred solitude, I did just fine in a crowd, so what in hell was wrong with me now, why was I so damned panicky all of the sudden?

Maybe it was the fact that the dining room of the station looked like a funeral parlor, with every flat surface covered with bouquets of flowers, enough so that the smell was starting to make my eyes water and my nose itch. I could understand the importance of flowers at a time like this, and normally I was quite fond of posies, and enjoyed the sight and the smell of them, but not when I was surrounded on all sides by the damned things.

I suppose that my jumpiness could also have been due to the fact that Jack had talked me into purchasing, and wearing, a new suit for the happy occasion, and for the life of me I couldn't get comfortable in it. He'd assured me that it was top of the line, the newest fashion, made of the best materials, something that was sure to turn Emma's head and catch her eye, but I felt like a jackass, all trussed up in a monkey suit, walking around on my back legs and making a damned spectacle of myself to the humor of all who'd gathered for the blessed event that was to take place between Emma and me.

Then again, I could have been feeling a tad bit antsy because my brothers, the ones that I'd been dumb enough to ask to stand up with me, insisted on putting my mind at ease and soothing my sensitive nerves by taking turns tickling my earlobes and giving me wet willies, when they weren't passing gas and belching, or making lewd and crude comments beneath their breath about what would be happening between me and my bride that night, and whether or not I was in possession of masculine credentials that were guaranteed to satisfy my wife.

Long story short, I was ready to kill both of them with my bare hands, but their lives were spared when Myrna Foley struck up what was supposed to be the bridal march tune on her broken-down harpsichord, but which, in truth, sounded like a couple of mangy alley cats engaging in a bout of red-hot loving instead, and I was too busy concentrating on not joining in all of the snorting and snickering that filled the room to pay them any mind.

The first one down the stairs was Howard's wife Lucy, who was fighting back her own giggles as she made her way across the room, and Bertha didn't do any better as she followed her, but I paid them very little mind at all. The one that I was waiting for came a few moments behind them, clutching tight to my Pa's arm, and I realized in that instant, when I saw her making her way toward me, that _this_ was what had made me so jumpy, this was what had made my mouth dry and my heart beat faster, and damned if my eyes didn't fill with tears as her gaze met, and held, mine as she crossed the room to stand by my side.

I know that there was a rule, some sort of jumped-up nonsense that said that a groom wasn't supposed to see his bride on the day of the wedding, and I'd done a pretty good job of keeping to myself, but if there was any part of that tradition that had to do with a man not seeing his bride-to-be's ensemble, then I had failed miserably in that area, because I'd not only seen what she meant to wear when she married me, I'd actually picked it out myself, and watching her as she made her way toward me, I knew that I'd done a good job of it as well.

She'd made it clear from the start that she didn't want a fancy wedding like she'd had when she married Walton Cantrell, and that was fine with me. Of course, she could have wanted to get hitched in an outhouse, with me yodeling while she strummed on a banjo, and that would have suited me just fine, save for the god-awful smell. All that I wanted was to say our vows, and then, once she was Mrs. Emma Bondurant, I meant to go about making her the happiest woman on the face of the earth, at least I meant to do so to the best of my abilities.

Her desire for a modest wedding had led me to pick out the dress that I had, one that was a light shade of green that the clerk at the store had said was called mint cream, with white flowers embroidered on the bodice, above the belt. I'd been mighty proud of myself for that purchase, and for the fact that I'd picked the right size, and it had been obvious from the look on her face that she liked the dress, and it was a nice compliment to her figure, if I did say so myself, though, in all honesty, she could have worn an old potato sack and looked just as pretty.

The right Reverend Lloyd Foley, a hellfire and brimstone self-proclaimed Man of God, and husband to Myrna, had been the only preacher that I'd been able to find who'd been willing to perform the wedding ceremony in the dining room of Blackwater Station, and I'd commissioned him for the job with the hope that he would be sober enough to make it to pronouncing us as man and wife at the end, but standing there in front of him, getting half-drunk off of the fumes that were rolling off of him, I started to panic just a little, and hoped that I wouldn't have to resort to smacking him around if he lost consciousness, though I wouldn't hesitate to do just that, if I was left with no other choice.

It seemed like an eternity passed before she was standing beside me, while at the same time it felt like it had just been seconds, but her hand still wasn't mine to hold, not until the preacher said that it was…the preacher who was starting to sway back and forth on his feet, the one who was hiccupping with more frequency than what was proper.

"Well, how the –hic- are y'all?" he bellowed to those who'd crowded into the station. "What a fine –hic-bunch of souls have come to see these two get hitched today. Which one of you is giving this-hic-woman in marriage?"

I was starting to get a little hot under the collar by that point, and I knew that Emma could sense my irritation, and that my Pa could as well, which was why he reached out and patted me on the arm before he turned his attention to Reverend Foley. "I ain't her father just yet, but I reckon I'm qualified to hand her over to my son, and more than that, I'm happy and proud to do just that….."

"That'll do-hic-old-timer," the preacher interrupted, reaching beneath his frock coat to tug on his pants, which had started to slide down off of his fat belly. "We don't need no speeches, for crying out loud. I just gotta ask my questions, and you-hic- just gotta answer 'em as quick as possible, savvy?"

He'd already sparked my temper, and was doing a good job of inciting Howard's and Jack's as well, but Pa shook his head at us in warning, to tell us to keep our hands to ourselves, whether we wanted to or not. "Well, sir, I'm the one giving her away then," he said, moving to place Emma's hand in mine.

"Fine, fine," Reverend Foley muttered. "Now then, young feller, I'm-hic-gonna give you some lines to say, and you repeat 'em jus' the way I say 'em, alright?"

I started to answer him, to tell him that I understood what he'd said, and agreed, but he went right into the vows and didn't give me a chance to do anything but listen, and then to repeat what he'd said, without the hiccups, of course. "I, James Forrest Bondurant, take you, Emma Sue Tyler, to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish 'till death do us part."

I turned to look at Howard, who was holding onto the simple band that I'd bought for Emma, and held out my hand for him to give it to me, and he had the nerve to pretend that he'd lost it, frantically searching his pockets, until I muttered a warning to him beneath my breath, one that promised him that I'd be happy to remove the protruding parts of his body, one in particular, and place them, as forcefully as possible, in a place where the sun wouldn't shine on them. He didn't seem all that worried, given the way that he was chortling, but then he straightened up and handed me the ring, and I turned and slid it onto Emma's finger, to rest on top of her engagement ring.

"Hmm-hic-, nice and shiny there, Forrest," the preacher said, bobbing about, back and forth, before he turned his attention toward my bride. "Alright, young lady, it's –hic- your turn now. Listen close to the words that I'm gonna say to you, and then, if you want to, you can say them to this feller who jus' slipped that sparkler onto your finger, okay?"

He didn't wait for Emma to agree or disagree, he just rolled right into the vows, but my sweetheart followed him easily enough. "I, Emma Sue Tyler, take you, James Forrest Bondurant, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 'till death do us part."

I hadn't expected her to give me a wedding ring, I'd accepted the fact that she could scarcely afford one on her own, and that her pride would never allow her to ask me for my help, so I was pleasantly surprised when she turned to look at Lucy and held out her hand to take hold of a plain gold band that could have been a twin for the one that I'd given her, had it not been so much larger than the one that was resting on her finger.

I'd had tears in my eyes for the entire ceremony, and I had been able to hold them back, but it wasn't easy when I watched her slide that ring onto my finger. It was enough, the thought of spending each day as her husband, but now I would have a reminder of that bond, something that I could see and feel, that would act as testimony to the fact that I was the most blessed man to be found on God's green Earth.

"Alright, let's finish this-hic-here so we can get to the shindig," Reverend Foley boomed, groaning deep in his chest while he held hold of his massive gut with both hands. "Is there anyone who's got something to say on why these two shouldn't be hitched to one another, and when I say 'something' I mean something sinful, like that they're brother and sister, or that one of 'em is married to someone else, 'cause I don't wanna hear anything that ain't a sin in the eyes of the Almighty, savvy?"

I would imagine that Emma was thinking about the time that she'd spent with Walton, and the fact that there were some who thought that it was a sin for her to be marrying for the second time, but I reckoned that it was just fine for her to get hitched to me, seeing as how she was a widow, and not a divorcee. Thankfully no one uttered a word of objection, though Howard and Jack, the asses, both made a fuss of coughing and clearing their throats, just to make me nervous.

"Well then, by the power vested in me by our Lord God, and the state of Virginia, I pronounce you two-hic- man and wife. You can smooch her now if you want to, young feller."

I wanted to, and more than that, I _needed_ to. I reached out and took hold of her face between my palms and drew her lips to mine, taking a deep, shuddering breath an instant before our mouths met, before losing myself completely in her embrace. It wasn't the first time that I'd kissed her, and it wasn't the most passionate smooch that we'd exchanged either, but it was the first that we'd shared as man and wife, and it was magical and sweet, it took hold of me completely…before I was brought back to reality by a huge crashing noise right behind me, as the preacher lost his fight to stay on his feet.

Oh, well…at least he'd made it to the man and wife part.

Emma's POV

I was terrified. I was excited, so much so that I could barely sit still, but the feeling of terror was threatening to edge out my anticipation, as well as my arousal. I was sitting on the side of the bed in the gown that my sisters-in-law had given me the night before, smoothing my hands over the satin skirt, pressing out any wrinkles that might have been in the material, marveling at the way that the fabric warmed beneath my palms. It was pretty and sexier than the slips that I usually wore to bed, and I hoped that Forrest would like it, that there would be at least one thing that he would enjoy before I ruined his evening by telling him the truth.

I thought that I would have more time to prepare myself before he walked through the door, but he must have been pretty excited himself, because I'd only been undressed and waiting for about ten minutes before he made his way into the room. He'd stripped down to his boxers and his undershirt, and his eyes were filled with a fire that made me shiver and dig my fingertips into the covers while I waited for him to join me on the bed.

"Hello, darlin'," he said softly, sitting beside me and taking my hand in his. "How are you feeling?"

Oh, Lord…how could I even begin to explain to him how I was feeling and what I was thinking?

"I'm scared," I said honestly, knowing that it was no use for me to hide from him and beat around the bush. Forrest loved me, I knew that he did, and I knew that there was nothing that I could tell him that would change that, not when I thought of all of the years that my heart had belonged to him, and vice versa, despite the fact that I had married Walton, when I had no business doing so.

"Aw, honey, there's nothing for you to be scared of," he said, putting his arm around me and drawing me close to his side. "I'm not going to rush you into anything, not until you're good and ready, and I promise that I'll never hurt you either. I ain't at all familiar with the mechanics of what we're going to do, but I'm a fast learner and I swear that I'll do everything in my power to….."

"I'm a virgin," I said softly, in a rush, before I lost what little nerve that I had left. "I know that I shouldn't be, that I've got no business being in that state, but I am anyway."

He'd taken a deep breath when I'd said the word _virgin_ and he let it loose slowly as he tightened his hold on me. "Hmm…well…hmm…how…hmm…I mean, why….?"

He stammered for a moment or two, and then quieted, so that I could speak. "I never suspected that Walton wasn't capable of loving me in the way that a husband ought to love his wife, in the way that a man loves a woman, period," I explained, willing away the urge to cry, because I was bound and determined to be strong in this moment. I could be weak and weepy later, when I had the time for that sort of foolishness. "Of course, I knew that he wasn't in love with me, just like I knew that I wasn't in love with him, but what I didn't know was that he _couldn't _love me…do you understand what I'm telling you, Forrest?"

I hoped that he would work out what I was saying on his own, so that I wouldn't have to say the words aloud, but I could tell by the look that was on his face that nothing I'd said had made any sense to him at all.

"I understand fine why you would never fall in love with him, but what man in his right mind, with eyes that worked as they should, could keep himself from falling in love with you, darlin'?"

The depth of his devotion to me touched my heart, but it didn't make telling him the truth any easier. "He couldn't feel those things for me because he was already in love with someone else," I explained, feeling the tears that I'd held at bay threaten to fall once more as I pictured that moment when I'd learned Walton's secret on our wedding day so long ago. "He loved someone that society wouldn't approve of, that they would have shunned him for. His mind and his eyes told him to love someone who was the complete opposite of me, and I didn't find out the truth until after we were married, when I found him kissing his best friend Billy Oglethorpe in a dark corner of the garden on his family estate."

Forrest had grown quiet, so much so that I could barely hear him breathing, and I waited for him to show a sign of shock, or possibly even of disgust, but he didn't. He simply pulled me closer, so that I was sitting on his lap and cuddled me close against his chest, leaving one hand on my waist, to hold me, and lifting the other to my hair, which he smoothed while he pressed kisses to my cheek, which was wet with my tears, despite my best efforts to hold them back.

"I never knew that such a thing was possible, and he begged me to keep his secret, and I've done just that, 'til now, because I knew that I had to be honest with you, even if it meant breaking the promise that I'd made to Walton. He was kind to me, and he took care of me, but we were never joined together as man and wife, truth be told, the only time that he even kissed me was after we said our vows. If you really want to know the truth, I'm glad that he didn't do any of that, I'm glad that he didn't know me that way, because even though I'm scared, I'm happy that you're the first man I've laid with…the _only_ man that I'll ever make love to. That's special, isn't it, Forrest?"

He lifted my face with his finger and stared at me with eyes that were somewhat shocked, but which still held a healthy amount of fire and smiled at me in a way that set me to shivering all over again. "Yes, it is, Emma," he said, kissing me the way that he had the very first time, gently and reverently. "As a matter of fact, I'm willing to bet that I'm the luckiest man alive."

A/N: Well, now the truth is out there and the next chapter will concentrate solely on wedding night smuttiness, just to give you a little advanced warning.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Emma's POV

His hands were warm on my arms and rough as they made their way to my shoulders, then around to my back, and his arms were strong and gentle as they drew me close to his chest while he held me tight. His lips touched my hairline, then my forehead, before tracing over each of my eyelids and caressing my cheeks, and then they touched against my mouth and slowly kissed me, wooing and enticing me, until I gave myself completely over to his embrace.

The top of my gown was chiffon, a fabric that was so thin that I could feel his hands as if he was laying them against my bare skin, and I blushed just a little when I felt my nipples awaken and press themselves against the cloth that laid against them, and couldn't help but let loose with a tiny whimper when the resulting sensation caused a tiny flutter to quiver between my thighs.

The sound seemed to please him, and encouraged him to deepen his kiss, to temptingly trace the tip of his tongue against my lips. I would imagine that he would have taken the time to ask me twice, if I'd wanted him to, but I was pretty shameless where my love and desire for him were concerned, and the one time was all that it took to have me opening to him, and meeting his tongue with my own, to tease and taste, to charge, then retreat, until we were both breathing harder, a growing rhythm to match the pounding of our hearts.

He slowly laid me back to rest against the mattress, his lips never leaving mine as his hand curled across my tummy, warming my flesh through the satin of my gown, but they did keep in time with his palm as it moved off of my stomach, up to my breast, which he cradled while his lips traveled the length of my neck, to my ear, which he bit, very gently, before he suckled the lobe, all while his thumb found the hardened tip of my breast and worked it back and forth in a slowly sensual cadence that caused a stutter in that flicker between my thighs, before it returned with a vengeance, more insistent than ever before.

"Hmm…tell me all about it, darlin'," he whispered, moving to face me when he heard me whimper, smiling down at me in a way that was absolutely, and delightfully, wicked in nature. "Tell me all about the way that I make you feel. Tell me what you want me to do next, baby girl."

Oh, Lord…was that something that people really did at a time like this? Granted, I'd done some of the things that led up to what we were going to do, but there were details of the actual act that remained a mystery to me, and for the life of me, I just couldn't fathom that talking was something that went on when you were making love, aside from the occasional declaration and term of endearment, that is. Funnily enough, the more that I thought about it, the more that the notion appealed to me, though I still couldn't help but feel just a tad too self-conscious to give it a try.

"Hmm…c'mon now, Emma, don't you want to tell me how this makes you feel?" he whispered, taking my nipple between his thumb and his index finger and pinching it, very gently, until I just couldn't help but wiggle a bit against the mattress. "How am I supposed to know what you want me to do next, if you won't tell me?"

I knew that this dance was one that he'd never tried before either, and that he was testing waters that were unfamiliar to him as well, but I also had a good idea that he was teasing me on purpose, and there was a part of me that said that I ought to retaliate in some way, to turn the tables on him, but I just couldn't muster the ability to do more than gasp, then whimper as he bent his head to nip me on the neck, then trace his tongue over the spot that he'd bitten, to soothe away the sting.

"Please take off my gown," I murmured, blushing as I said the words aloud, though I couldn't understand why that idea would embarrass me now, given that it wouldn't be the first time that he'd done so, though this was the first time that I had _asked_ him to do so. "I want to feel everything, without it covering me, if you would do that for me, please….."

His eyes were the prettiest shade of green, but I'd found that they were even more mesmerizing in moments such as this one, when they were heated by his love and arousal for me. "Alright, darlin'," he whispered, lifting me off of the bed and pulling the gown, very carefully, off of me, growing very still, and wide-eyed, when he saw that I hadn't bothered with any underclothes.

"Well, now, look at you, Mrs. Bondurant," he said softly, with a hint of wonder, and a healthy dose of appreciation evident in his voice. "I can't recall a single sight in my life that's been prettier than the one I'm looking at right now."

His words pleased me, and made me blush, but I didn't know how I ought to respond. Ignoring what he'd said would be rude, but saying "thank you" would sound conceited, at least it would as far as I was concerned.

"I would imagine that there have been prettier sights than me," I said self-consciously. "You're just love-struck, that's all, aren't you, Mr. Bondurant?"

He stared down at me for a moment and didn't say a word, and then he dipped his head down and ran his nose across the slope of my breasts, drawing in the scent of my perfume and sighing with what sounded like appreciation before he kissed me on the tip of each breast.

"I am a man in love, there ain't no denying that, but I reckon that I'm the one who knows all the things that I've seen, which means that I'm also the one who knows what's been the prettiest sight that I've ever beheld, ain't that right?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so….."

"I used to think that the prettiest sight was that time that we were all outside, waiting for the sun to go down so that we could catch a jarful of lightning bugs and it started to rain. Do you remember that, Emma? I was about twelve years old, give or take, and all of the sudden, with no warning, it started to rain like cats and dogs, and I started to grab hold of your hand, to take you back inside, but the moment I laid eyes on you, I couldn't move a single step, because you had your eyes closed, and a big smile on your face while the rain poured down on you, with the last bit of the sun shining behind you, and damned if you weren't the most beautiful thing that I'd ever seen in my life, up until that point, that is."

I remembered that evening very well. My momma had blessed me out good and proper for standing out in the rain like I didn't have any sense, but I never would have thought that Forrest would recall it so clearly, and I certainly wouldn't have believed that he would have held that sort of picture of me in his mind. I wish that he could have told me then…there were a lot of things that I wished we'd both done differently.

"That moment held the winning spot until that picnic when you were seventeen and Howard had cracked some stupid joke while you were eating some of your Ma's peach cobbler. You'd just taken a big ol' bite when he reached the funniest part, and you put your hand up over your mouth while you laughed, and the sight of your eyes, dancing and shining over your hand took over as the prettiest sight…until the day you married Walton, that is."

I'd worn a frilly, fussy white dress that day, and I'd hated every minute of it, though it was just one of the many things that I'd despised about that day. "I can't imagine that you thought that the dress was pretty….."

"Hmm…no, that frock was god-awful," he said, not unkindly, just honestly. "It was the smile that you gave me when you were on your way out that caught hold of me. I was so miserable, my heart was breaking, and I just wanted to go home and break open a jar of corn and drink until I forget my own name, but you looked at me as you were leaving the church, no one else but me, and you smiled that sweet smile that made me think that things were going to be just fine, even if only for that moment….."

His voice trailed off into silence, and I hurt for him, for all of the pain that I'd caused him, no matter how unintentional my actions had been. "My heart was breaking that day as well," I told him, raising one hand, to rest on his cheek. "And the only thing that made it bearable for me to walk out of that church on his arm was to find your face in the crowd. I wanted more than anything to cry and to throw myself into your arms, but I couldn't, so I made myself smile instead…and you smiled back at me, which was a rarity for you, it still is, and that gave me the strength that I needed to walk out of that door."

I could feel tears brimming in my eyes, and I cursed them, because a woman wasn't supposed to cry out of sadness on the happiest day of her life. I'd let the tears flow more than once today, but that had been at the wedding, and the reception that followed, when he held me tight for our first dance. Those had been tears that were born out of joy, which were perfectly acceptable, and I was bound and determined not to let melancholy take hold of me, not even for a moment.

"Aw, don't cry, darlin'," he whispered, bending to kiss me, softly and soothingly, while he drew me close in his arms. "There ain't no sense in crying over the past, not when we've got so much happiness now, and in the future, to look forward to."

I returned his kiss, tenderly, almost shyly, to begin with, then with a growing hunger, punctuated here and there with a gasp, then a whimper as his hand found, and held, my breast, his thumb teasing and tempting the crest, until it stood up tall and proud and aching for more.

"Please, Forrest, please," I whimpered, as his lips left mine, to trace kisses along my jaw, then down further, on my neck, slowly making their way to the spot where my throat joined my shoulder. "I need more, honey…I need lots more."

I wasn't even certain what exactly it was that I was speaking of until I felt my fingertips clutching at his undershirt. I wanted him to remove the cotton barrier that lay between my flesh and his. I wanted him bared to my touch, so that I might run my palms over his skin, so that I might feel him pressed close against me as intimately as possible, and I nearly cried all over again, this time with relief, when he realized what I was speaking of and hastily removed his undershirt and his boxers, leaving him wonderfully, and exquisitely, naked.

I took a moment to admire him, to trace my fingertips over the muscled planes of his chest, and the evident strength of his arms, of his shoulders and his back, and then I turned my attention to the marks that had been made when he'd almost been taken from me, though it pained me to do so, because though they were each terrible to behold, they were beautiful as well, because they marked the fact that he'd survived.

I slowly caressed the line that ran across his throat, the one that scared me the most, pressing close to him so that I could kiss the mark, and then I touched the spots where each bullet had entered his body, three in all, each more painful to me than the one before it. I felt compelled to kiss each of these spots as well and started with the scar on his shoulder, then moved down on the bed to reach the others, and had just kissed the first one when I felt something move against me, something hot and hard, and I heard him groan, then growl deep in his throat as it touched me, and it dawned on me where I was and what I was doing, and I couldn't help but blush when I glanced down at the part of him that had brushed against me.

"Oh, my Lord," I whispered, halfway scared out of my mind, halfway mesmerized by the part of him that I'd held often enough, but which I'd never had a good look at until that moment. "I know that the Almighty isn't prone to making mistakes, Forrest, but I'm not rightly sure that the mechanics of what we mean to do are possible….."

He stared at me for a moment, not moving or making a sound, and then his shoulders started to shake as he laughed at me, full-blown belly chuckles that shook him and me, and the bed as well. I was more than a little insulted that he would find humor in my distress, and I was tempted to retaliate in ways that might be called painful, but then he ruined my murderous intentions by pulling me up into his arms and kissing me…once he'd stopped braying like a jackass, that is.

"Now, darlin', there ain't no reason for you to be worrying yourself about that," he said, smoothing my hair back away from my face and nuzzling the tip of my nose with his. "The good Lord is a wonderful architect, there ain't one thing in existence that doesn't work just as He intended it to, and you and I aren't any different, which means that we will fit together perfectly, just you wait and see."

Forrest's POV

It took me a few moments to convince her that we'd fit together just fine, that it wasn't some colossal joke that God had invented to torment human beings, but damned if I hadn't had to resort to pointing out the fact that men and women were fitting themselves together a whole hell of a lot, given all the children that occupied the Earth, and now I had to contend with the internal picture show, no matter how brief, of couples that I knew engaged in what was discreetly referred to as _marital congress_.

She was nervous, I recognized that in her because I was feeling a mite bit anxious myself, but I couldn't let her see that. She couldn't know that my hands felt shaky and my belly was fluttering. It wouldn't do at all for her to know that my heart was pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs or that I was halfway scared out of my wits that I was going to hurt her, that I was going to mess things up in some way that would leave her frightened of me for years to come, possibly even forever. I had to concentrate on my need for her, on the wanting that flared between the two of us and then everything would be just fine…at least, that was what I hoped.

I held her close in my arms, closing my eyes and losing myself in the feel of her soft breasts pressed against my bare chest, in the heat of her meeting, and kissing, the part of me that cried out for her in the strongest voice, and it took every last scrape of discipline and determination that I had to take things nice and slow, but in the end I was triumphant, and rewarded myself by loosening my hold on her and bending my head, so that I could take one of her rosy peaks into my mouth, licking and suckling it until she was writhing beneath me, and then I bit it, very gently, and smiled when I heard her whimper and felt her fingers twine their way into my hair.

I'd heard tell that there were books in existence that told a man how to make love to his wife, but there were none to be found 'round these parts. The only things that I knew for certain had come from watching animals mate and I was certain that I didn't have any intention of incorporating any of those techniques into my lovemaking, aside from what I ought to do with what God had given me. I figured the best thing for me to do was to take things nice and slow, because I'd heard a whisper or two throughout the years that said that the first time was painful for a woman, which seemed terribly unfair to both the woman and the man who loved her.

I knew that her nipples were sensitive, and that all of the attention that I paid them would make her come alive, would make her wet and hot and swollen to my touch, so I was careful to pay special attention to them, wooing and charming her that way until she was moaning my name and moving her hands from my hair to the bedclothes, flexing her fingertips, then relaxing them, only to grab hold tight all over again. Then, and only then, did I move my hand down, over her stomach to trace, whisper soft, toward the flesh that I'd helped to awaken.

This wasn't the first time that I'd touched her this way, it wouldn't be the first time that I'd pleasured her this way, but I treated the moment like it was the first time, because in a way it would be, because this touch would lead to the moment when I made her mine in every way. I marveled at the fact that she was my wife, and that I would be able to hold her and to love her like this each and every day, and the time would come when she would grow round with the first of our babies, and that was what I imagined as my fingertips parted her, very gently, and I found that tiny nubbin of flesh and made her arch beneath me, a groan growing to a lusty wail as I stroked the fire to blazing within her.

"Oh, yes, Forrest, please, honey," she whimpered, raising her hips off of the bed, to aid in her release, moving my finger in a rhythm that brought her the most pleasure. "Just like that, oh, God, please don't stop, please don't stop….."

I had no intention of stopping, in fact I went ahead and sped my movements just a bit, knowing that she was close to exploding, and sure enough she did just that, throwing her head up off of her pillow with a scream of my name, then moving it back and forth while she cried out again and again, slowly calming, and clutching me close to kiss me, while she rode out the bursts and the quivers, and then went limp in my arms with a soft whimper.

I knew that this was the moment that I had been waiting for, I knew that she was ready for me now, well, as ready as she could be this first time, and I took a deep breath as I moved to rest between her thighs, closing my eyes in what could only be called torturous bliss when I felt her, so soft and warm, brush against my flesh. I could feel how swollen she was, how much I'd pleased her, and I hoped that she would remember that when the pain threatened to take hold of her.

"Easy now, darlin', easy," I said, though my words were meant more for me than for her while I slowly began to make my entrance. Merciful Lord, I never imagined that her heat and her silkiness would feel so good as they enveloped me, but it was enough to make me lean over and take the fleshy part of my palm into my mouth, between my teeth, biting down and growling deep in my throat as I struggled to keep control over my aching flesh while she swathed me, little by little, until I felt something that hindered me from proceeding any further.

I looked into her eyes and saw that there was pain there and more than just a little and I wondered if maybe she hadn't been right after all, that maybe the mechanics of what I wanted to do was not possible. I knew that there were plenty of folks who'd made it through this first time, but maybe it had taken them more than one try, or maybe some of the men weren't as concerned about their partner.

"Do you want me to stop, darlin'?" I asked softly, even though the thought was maddening to me. It would be much worse if I was to cause her pain that she'd remember each and every time we laid down together, so maybe it was best that I wait a little while, if that was what she wanted me to do.

She moved her hands off of the bed, to my back. "No, Forrest, don't stop," she whispered, trying her best to smile at me. "I want to belong to you in every way possible. I know that it will hurt, but then it'll feel good again…won't it?"

_I sure as hell hope so_, I thought to myself, but I couldn't say that aloud, could I? "It will, darlin'," I promised, knowing that I would do everything humanly possible to make certain that it would, no matter how much agony it caused me to hold back. It was bad enough that she had to feel pain at all, but to leave her unfulfilled would be lowdown and just plain mean.

I kept my eyes trained on hers and slowly pushed against the bit of flesh that signified her innocence. In the end it gave away easily enough, but I still had to witness her eyes going wide with pain, then as they filled with tears while she took deep breaths in an effort to withstand my intrusion. Nothing in my life had ever felt as amazing as what I was feeling at that moment, and the unfairness to Emma riled me anew and I racked my brain for a way that I could make it up to her…and then I remembered the tiny button that rested at the apex of her feminine cleft.

It took some careful maneuvering on my part, but finally I managed to slip my hand between our bodies and found her special spot resting above the point where we were joined together. I caressed it the way that I knew she liked and groaned when I felt her spasm around me in response. I could see that she was confused, that she wasn't certain why I was doing what I was, but I knew that I'd found the answer, I'd discovered an ace in the hole, and I was damn sure going to use it to my advantage.

"Don't look away from me, Emma," I murmured, stroking her with my fingertip while I began to move, slowly, but surely, within her. "Watch my eyes, darlin', and everything will be just fine."

She nodded and tightened her arms around me, holding me tight, while I established a rhythm for both my finger and my cock, and, like magic, it started to work. It took her a moment or two, but I watched all of the pain flee her eyes, replaced by a heat that I knew and loved, and before I knew what was what, she'd raised her legs, twining them about my waist, while she lifted her hips to meet me, hesitantly at first, then with a fever that burned hotter and hotter, until we were moving together as one.

"Oh, Forrest," she said, her voice soft and breathy while she stared up at me, smiling in a way that I felt course throughout my body, from the top of my head to the tip of my toes, concentrating itself strongly in my heart. "I can feel it, honey; you _are_ going to make me feel good, just like you always do."

I would have liked to have answered her in some way, but I was too busy concentrating on the rhythm of my hips, I was too focused on keeping my raging need for release at bay. She was getting close, I could always tell when her moment was near, and I had to get her there all of the way, because I'd never forgive myself if I didn't. Thank God I didn't have to wait too long, because I was just about at the end of my tether, when suddenly she tightened her hold on me and arched off of the bed with an earsplitting cry, her inner magic tightening around me like a silken fist, and I lost myself in the look in her eyes and the wonder of feeling her release, a frantic cadence upon my masculinity while her flesh held me close, then released me, only to grab hold of me all over again.

I couldn't wait any longer, my time for being patient was at its end, and I lost control of myself so violently, with a rush of blinding delight that had me shouting her name while I moved again and again, almost frantically, and then, again, as if by magic, she found her own release and our cries mingled together, filling the room, and we held each other tight in the aftermath, shuddering and weakly kissing one another while the initial firestorm passed and left us soft and warm and shining.

"I guess the Almighty had it right all along, didn't he, Forrest?" she whispered as I ran my hand lazily down her side and kissed her forehead.

I smiled and chuckled deep in my throat, pulling her closer to my side. "He surely did, Emma," I murmured, appreciating, as I always did, the way that she rested her hand over my heart while she drifted off to sleep. "I love you so much, my darlin' girl. I've loved you as long as I can remember…and I'll love you 'til the day I die."

She made a humming sound in her throat and nuzzled up against me, throwing her leg over me while she got comfortable. "I love you too, Forrest, more than I can say…always have, always will."

_What more could a man possibly ask for than that_? I asked myself, closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep while I held her tight, content to never let her go.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Forrest's POV

I'd always been a morning person, I'd never been one to grouch or grumble as I rolled out of bed to the first hints of sunlight peeking up over the horizon, but there were definitely ways that I preferred to awaken, if I was given a say in the matter. The smell of coffee percolating was a surefire way to put a smile on my face, especially if it was accompanied by the scent of bacon frying in the pan. The tweeting of birds as they went through their morning routine was another way that I liked to greet the morning, but I was quickly coming to the conclusion that none of these things could even come close to the way that I was waking up at that moment.

At first I thought that I'd made a mistake, that I was going to get chewed out good and proper for having the nerve to fill my palm with Emma's naked breast while I slept beside her, and I was all set to make my way out of the bed, and the room, as fast as I could…and then I remembered that we'd been married the day before, which meant that I had every right to be cradling her breast in my hand, which was a good thing, because that meant that I also had every right to be getting all hot and bothered while I concentrated on the feel of her skin, so warm and so silky, and on her nipple as well, which was slowly, but surely, growing hard against the caress of my palm.

I could tell by her breathing that she was still asleep, but my touch was awakening her arousal, and she responded by arching her back and wriggling against me…which meant that her backside, in all of its bare lushness, brushed against the part of me that had been working overtime lately. It had been bad enough, the buildup to last night, but now that I knew what it was like to be with her, now that I knew how it sounded and how it felt, I knew that I'd be hard-pressed to keep my hands off of her…though, I suppose, there was no reason why I had to keep them to myself at the moment, which was good, because one of them was occupied in the most pleasant way possible, and I was reluctant to turn loose of her before I'd had my fill.

I used the hand that wasn't more pleasantly engaged to move her hair off of her neck, smoothing it to the side, to expose that part that was always hidden from the world, and pressed my lips there, kissing and nuzzling her skin, while my fingertips went to work on the rosy crest of her breast, teasing and wooing the flesh, until it was as hard as I could make it, and then I kept it that way by brushing my thumb over it, back and forth, again and again, until she was moving her bottom against me, in a dance that mimicked the caress of my thumb to a tee.

"Mmm," she said quietly, barely a whisper, one that grew to a whimper when I opened my mouth and ran the tip of my tongue over her nape, then turned to a moan as I nipped her skin, very gently, with my teeth. "Ohh…_For_rest."

She still wasn't completely awake, but she was coming 'round more and more, and was moving her backside in a fashion that was making me forget any and all intentions that I might have had to be a gentleman in a hurry. There was a part of me that told me that I had to wait until she was fully awake to take things as far as I intended, but I was beginning to think that she might not wake up anytime soon, and that made me feel a mite bit anxious. Of course, there was probably a whole school of thought that said that a man ought not take his new wife so soon, before she'd had time to mend, and another that said that making love in the presence of the sun was sinful, so what should I do? Was I a bad man for wanting her this way, or was I exactly what I ought to be….?

"What happened?" she asked suddenly, in a sleepy tone of voice that was colored by something that might have been desire, though it was possible that I was only hearing that, because it was what I _wanted_ to hear. "Your hand and your mouth were doing such sweet things to me, but now they've stopped. Did you change your mind, honey?"

Lord have mercy…how could she think for even a minute that I'd changed my mind? Couldn't she feel me pressed against her? Didn't she know that the state of my body was one that was due to the wanting and the needing that was coursing through it? Maybe she needed me to prove to her what I was feeling at that moment, but would it make me a bad person if I did?

"I haven't changed my mind, darlin'," I murmured, gently pinching her nipple between my fingertips. "I just wasn't sure that I was doing what I ought to be doing the night after our marriage. Maybe I ought to be cooking you some breakfast, or maybe you'd like to have a bath instead…hmm, what should I do, Emma?"

The reality was that I wouldn't make it to do anything beyond this moment if she didn't stop rubbing her backside against me the way that she was, but I wasn't about to tell her to stop. It would be embarrassing if I was to lose control of myself like an untried, green boy, but assuring that wouldn't happen sounded like an awful idea, when I looked at the big picture, that is, and I imagined that I could redeem myself pretty quickly, if I was to find myself driven over the edge.

"I don't know if it's right for me to be doing this so soon after the last time, either," I said, wishing that I wasn't so unsure of the particulars of what was right and what was wrong. "And I've heard tell that you aren't supposed to do this sort of thing in the daytime. There are people who say that a man is only supposed to join himself with his wife when it's dark outside….."

My words died in an instant when I heard her giggle, and I started to feel offended, but she made me forget all about my hurt feelings when she moved in a way that put the tip of me against her soft, swollen warmth.

"I think it's just fine for you to be doing exactly what you're doing right now, and more, if it's what you want, and what I want too," she said. "And who's to say that there's a right time of day, and a wrong time of day? I don't think that there's any set hour that a wife can make love to her husband, and even if there was, I have a pretty good idea that I would ignore it completely."

I would have liked to have offered her some sort of answer that made at least a little bit of sense, but it was hard for me to find the right words, or the ability to voice them aloud, given that she'd moved in a way that made it to where her flesh wasn't just brushing against me anymore, but was instead starting to take me inside, little by little, hugging me close within her silken depths.

"I have a wonderful idea, Forrest," she gasped, her breath catching, then finding its way out in a cry of pleasure as my fingertip found, and stroked, the tiny bit of flesh that hid itself at the top of her femininity. "We could always do exactly as we are right now, and then we can have that bath, together, and then we could cook breakfast together as well, couldn't we?"

I groaned, then growled as she took me, enveloping me in soft warmth that felt better than I could have ever imagined it would. I was worried, to begin with, that I might have hurt her again, and I listened carefully, searching for a sign that I might have needed to stop, but her breathing wasn't the sort of someone in pain. She sounded like she was enjoying the feel of me, as a matter of fact, she sounded like someone who was on the verge of whimpering with pleasure, and I damn near lost control of myself then and there when I felt the slightest embrace of her flesh upon mine, holding me close, then releasing me.

"Hmm…that sounds good to me, darlin'…" I said, knowing, without a doubt, that she could have suggested damned near anything at that moment and I would have agreed. I'd never heard tell of a man and a woman trying to wrestle their bodies into the washtub at the same time, but it could certainly be interesting, and it seemed to me that too many cooks in the kitchen could lead to disaster, until it dawned on me that it could be a lot of fun as well. After all, if I'd learned nothing else, I'd found that there was a first time for everything, and a lot of my firsts were with her, so why shouldn't I add a few more to the list?

Emma's POV

I was supposed to be balancing the ledgers, a task that I had set for myself, in the downtime between the rush at noon, and the one that would take hold of the station at suppertime, but my thoughts, as well as my body, were concentrated on my husband instead, in the memories that were afforded to me after a week of marriage, and of making love every chance we got, and it wasn't long before my body was aching for him.

I couldn't say with any certainty how long this hunger for him would remain so keen, but I was selfish enough to hope that it would never diminish, because it hadn't taken me long to realize that there was little, if anything, else in this world that felt as wonderful as being loved thoroughly by a man, and I never wanted that feeling to leave me, not even when I was old and wrinkled and my hair was silver in hue, instead of dark brown…..

"It ain't my place to notice, and it probably ain't proper for me to say, Mrs. Bondurant, but you got that look again, that one that I reckon means that you're pining for your mister, am I right, ma'am?"

I'd tried again and again to convince Annie that she ought to call me by my Christian name, and she did, from time to time, but for the most part she insisted on addressing me by my new surname instead, but I wasn't likely to complain anytime soon, because the truth of the matter was that I liked to hear my name, I enjoyed the affirmation of the event that I sometimes wondered if I'd imagined, because it all seemed too good to be true.

"You'll mention something to me that is never meant to be spoken of in mixed company, yet you refuse to allow my name to escape your lips?" I asked her incredulously, straightening in my chair and biting back a moan when the seat rubbed against me in a way that made my need soar ever closer to release. "Do you have any notion of how ridiculous that is, Annie?"

She started to laugh, then smiled instead as she made her way into Forrest's office, revealing that she was carrying a box beneath her arm. " 'Mixed company' is just another way of saying prudish and uppity, ain't it, _Emma_?" she asked coyly, moving closer to the desk, to lay the box in front of me. "I'm just pointing out something that's fairly common for a woman who's new to being a wife. I wore that same look when I married Ellery. Hell, truth is I probably had that glow right up until the time when I was carrying Cora Lynn, but that was when he took to drinking, and I haven't had that happiness since, though it didn't stop him from getting two more young'uns on me, did it?"

I couldn't even begin to imagine making love to a man that I didn't feel that glow of happiness for, but what did I know about it? I just couldn't work out the notion of being intimate with a man who you only tolerated, at best. How could a woman stand the feel of him against her, and, more than that, how could she stomach him being inside of her? That had to have been hell, plain and simple, but what was a woman like Annie, with six children to feed and clothe, to do, other than to stay right where she was?

"I wish that there was something that I could do to help you, Annie," I said quietly, hesitantly, because I knew that she despised people feeling sorry for her. "It's no way for a woman to live….."

"This package just came for you, Mrs. Bondurant," she interrupted, moving the box closer to me, until it seemed that she meant to push it off of the desk and into my lap. "Someone wrote _fragile_ on it. That means that it breaks easily, don't it? It's kind of a funny word, isn't it…_fragile_. Why don't they just say to be careful, or to watch your step? Why go and use that word instead? What if the one they're talking to don't understand what they're talking about?"

She turned and walked out of the room in a hurry, before I could answer her, but I understood her meaning just the same. _She_ was the fragile one, with a delicate heart, and even more tenuous was her pride, and if I continued on in the way that I was, I was in danger of breaking her heart, of being careless with our friendship, and treading callously upon her pride, and I didn't want to any of those things. I wanted to help her, because she was my friend, but I didn't want to do so at the expense of our friendship, so it was best if I didn't discuss her marriage with her, not unless she made it clear first that she wanted my opinion on the matter.

I turned my attention to the box in front of me. It was an everyday, ordinary corrugated paper box, with no ornament to make it more appealing to the eye, though the names and addresses had been penned in a neat and ornate hand. It was just as much of a thrill to see my new name as the addressee with my own eyes as it had been to hear it with my ears whenever I could convince those around me to refer to me as such. _Mrs. Emma S. Bondurant_…yes, that looked wonderful, though the name of the sender, one _Mrs. Constance V. Cantrell_, wasn't nearly as nice.

I was hesitant to open a package that had originated from my ex-mother-in-law, as a matter of fact, I was downright scared to do so, because I would not put it past the old witch to send me a box filled with scorpions, at the very least, or maybe, if she wanted to ensure my death, she might have rounded up a pair of water moccasins instead, though that seemed less likely, given that there were no holes in the box to offer them a breath of air.

I rattled the box back and forth, listening for any telltale scrapes or slithers, but all that I heard was the sound of something heavy hitting one side of the box, then the other. I waited several moments, hoping that Forrest might come in and offer me his opinion, but he was busy at the old home place with Howard and Jack, helping their father to tear out and replace a broken section of floor in the loft of the barn, and it was unlikely that he'd be home before dark, and my curiosity was quickly getting the best of me.

I took a heavy pair of shears out of the desk drawer and cautiously applied them to the lid of the carton, opening it as quickly as I could, then jumping back out of the way before anything could attack me, and damn near killing myself by slipping and falling in the process, though somehow, miraculously, I avoided the sharp blades of the scissors, which was a good thing, because I would have been in for one hell of a chastising from my husband, had I mortally wounded myself. Of course, if I had killed myself it would have meant that he'd have had a difficult time getting on to me, but…..

"Oh, for heaven's sake, what is wrong with you?" I hissed, bending to pick up the shears, which I'd dropped when I fell, returning them to the drawer, and then turning my attention to the contents of the box. There was a card, which smelled heavily of lily of the valley, like the woman who'd sent the package, and beneath that, wrapped in layer after layer of thin paper, was a crystal vase, one that was very familiar to me, in the most terrifying way possible, which, I'm certain, is why she'd chosen to send it to me, the vindictive old hag.

The card was pretty enough, and obviously expensive, but there wasn't one mention of Forrest, aside from the insincere words of congratulations on our marriage. Then there were passages of what would have amounted to polite and mind-numbing chitchat in spoken conversation…and then there was the real reason for her _gift_.

….._It dawned upon me that you were quite fond of this vase that you received from Walton's good friend, William Oglethorpe, and I realize that it was cruel of me, to take this precious memento from you when my son died. William was a good friend to Walton his entire life, and there were confidences that he shared, concerning our family, secrets which you share as well, and I thought that this vase would remind you of the consequences that are to be born when one does not keep their word. It was so unfortunate, what happened to Mr. Oglethorpe, after Walton had his dreadful accident, wasn't it? I would hate to see the same fate befall you, Emma dear, but these things happen, don't they, when one forgets themselves_…..

Walton had insisted that the beautiful vase hold freshly cut flowers whenever they were available, while he lived. I think that it had made him feel closer to Billy, just as I think it had made him sad, and he'd loved the crystal, and cared for it every day, but it had disappeared on the day he died…only to be found later, lying next to William Oglethorpe, a corner of it shattered and coated with his blood.

I could still see the stain of crimson it the splintered corner and I wondered how on earth she'd managed to get her hands on it, so that she could send it to me as a warning. Oh, I read her meaning loud and clear, it was one that struck me dead in the center of my chest and caused the hair to rise up on the back of my neck. It was amazing that I'd managed to live as long as I had, and I wasn't about to do or say anything that would jeopardize me, or, more importantly, those that I loved, and that was why I carefully wrapped the vase back in its paper and threw the card on top before I resealed the box and found a place to hide it, well out of sight, before I went to speak to Annie, and bid her not to mention the delivery to Forrest.

The Cantrell family had ruined many things for me, they'd browbeaten and frightened me, and wore me down and cast me out, but they wouldn't take my husband away from me, or me away from my husband, not so long as I had a breath of life left in my body. I just wondered if the good Lord would judge me too harshly if they drove me to do the worst. Would it be murder if it was done in the defense of my own life or in that of others? I hoped that I never had to find out…though I certainly wouldn't hesitate, if they gave me no other choice.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Emma's POV

Running the kitchen of Blackwater Station was no easy feat, but I welcomed each and every challenge that came my way, because I was a Bondurant now, and I wanted to do everything that I could to aid in the family businesses, though I had been told, very firmly, in no uncertain terms, that I would _not_ be allowed to lend a hand where the distilling and distributing of the illegal beverages that Forrest and his brothers were renowned for was concerned.

My husband had gone so far as to threaten me with the notion of a punishment that was so unspeakable in nature that he couldn't even name it aloud if he was to catch me messing around the 'corn', though I had a pretty good notion that it had to do with his hand smacking against my bare backside, and the thought of that was enough to make me deliberately dabble in mischief…or, that is, it would have been, had I not been so mired in guilt over the secret that I was keeping from him.

A wife wasn't supposed to lie to her husband, even if honesty wasn't specifically mentioned in the vows by name, it was by spirit, and it was a trait that I'd grown up practicing, because I knew that it was a sin to lie to anyone, and I'd always done so well with telling the truth, no matter what the consequence to myself may have been, but now I'd become a deceptive woman, and it was knowledge that weighed heavily on my heart.

I suppose that there were those who would argue that I wasn't really playing Forrest false, because he'd never actually asked me if I was being completely straight with him about each and every facet of my life, but to my way of thinking that was one of those ways that people turned to when they felt guilty about something, and they were willing to grasp at any straw that would give them the justification that they longed for to tolerate what they knew was wrong, and I'd never been one of those sorts and I wasn't about to start now.

I cleared out the bins that held a bounty of potatoes and onions and bulbs of garlic, throwing out those that were rotting, and then I scrubbed each basket clean and filled it with the produce that was still in good condition. It probably seemed sinful, in the time that we were living in, to throw out food, just because it had a bit of wither to it, or spots of age that made it less palatable, there were probably even those that would say that we ought to partake of that which was moldy and be thankful for it, but I knew that us eating rotten food wasn't going to change anything about the state of the nation, and us rooting out the food that had gone bad meant that the hogs would have plenty to eat for a few days, once I added the carrots and the apples that had passed their prime to the mix.

"Would you like some help with that, Mrs. Bondurant?" Annie asked from the door of the kitchen, scaring me half out of my wits. It was more likely than not that she'd made plenty of noise as she was coming toward me, so I couldn't jump her case for startling me, but that didn't stop me from jumping in the air and screaming like a banshee, did it?

"Land sakes, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" she hissed, pressing her hand against her chest and sagging against the doorjamb while she struggled to catch her breath. "I'm willing to bet that you just scared ol' Whit Lewis out of a year of his life at least, for heaven's sake. I reckon I better go and give him a look-see, just to make sure that he didn't keel over deader 'n a doornail."

Whit Lewis was a shiftless old fart whose main purpose in life seemed to be occupying a barstool while he drank himself into oblivion, and once that had taken place he would fall into such a deep sleep that he wouldn't awaken before supper time, unless, maybe, Gabriel himself were to blow his trumpet in his ear. I wasn't all-seeing, and I sure as hell wasn't all-knowing, but I had a pretty good idea that it wasn't quite time for Judgment Day just yet, which meant that Whit was probably still firmly ensconced in dreamland, but I didn't stop Annie from checking on him, because I needed the time to myself, to try and wipe all of my guilty thoughts off of my face before they could be noticed, that is, if Annie hadn't seen them already.

Chances were better than not that she _had_ observed the presence of guilt all around me, because she was better than most at noticing each and every little thing, whether you wanted her to or not, and if she was offering her assistance to me, that meant that she'd already finished her own work, and would volunteer to help me with anything that I had left that needed to be done, and if that was the case, then she would definitely find things out that were better left hidden, and then where would I be?

"No harm done," she said, and I was pleased by the fact that I neither screamed nor jumped, though I don't know why I bothered being happy about anything, given the third-degree that I'd undoubtedly receive from her once she settled herself into the routine of lending me a hand with my chores. "I swear that old coot would sleep through World War Two, though you did give poor ol' Myron Abbott a turn 'round the bend."

Myron was Whit's best friend and confidante, as well as his fellow drunk, and the two of them gossiped more than a couple of old women. The only thing that differentiated the one from the other was that Whit never seemed to be able to keep his eyes open after a certain hour of the day had passed us by, and Myron never closed his, which meant that he was always watching to see the actions of each and every person in the station, and he wasn't shy about offering you his opinion on the way in which you chose to live your life, whether you wanted it or not.

"That can't be all that bad," I said, turning to the sink, to rinse the rag that I'd used to scrub the bins. "He's prone towards nursing a single jar of corn all day long, but he might be tempted to buy a second one, if he's feeling a little shaky, don't you think?"

I suppose that it was a little wicked of me to support illegal imbibing, and it was even worse for me to encourage the drunkards to partake of as much of the forbidden brew as possible, but I thought that Prohibition had to have been one of the most foolish things that the government had ever dreamed up. It was a sad time for all of us when the politicians had the ability to tell us what we, as adults, could drink and I couldn't help but wonder, and fear, what they would come after next.

"Tempted? Shoot, he's already went and bought a second one, Mrs. Bondurant. As a matter of fact, I'm willing to bet that he's already drained a quarter of it," Annie told me, covering her mouth and snickering while she peeped over her shoulder at the dining room, and the four or five regulars who haunted it whenever our doors were opened. "He's feeling a mite bit nervous and jumpy today, but he ain't the only one who is, is he, ma'am?"

Well, I'd known that the moment was coming; I'd known that it was inevitable, but now that it had arrived I wished that I had just a little longer, five minutes, at least. "What do you mean, Alice?" I asked, moving about the room and avoiding her eyes as much as possible while I set myself to one superfluous task after another. "I can't imagine who it is that you're referring to."

She made a sound that was suspiciously similar to a laugh and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. "I think that you know exactly what I mean, Mrs. Bondurant, and there's no doubt in my mind that you know damn well who it is that I'm speaking of, so why don't you drop the act and try your best to be on the level with me, alright?"

I suppose that I ought to have taken offense at her tone and her highhanded manner, but I couldn't muster that particular feeling, because I knew that her attitude was just what I needed to put me back on the track that I needed to be on, as opposed to the one that I'd chosen to veer off onto, because it seemed like the easiest way at the time.

"Alright, Annie, I can see that there'll be no pulling the wool over your eyes, but if you're bound and determined to have this conversation, then I'm going to have to insist that you call me by my Christian name. I think that you can be familiar with a person if you're acting as their confidante, wouldn't you agree?"

She smiled at me, and moved further into the room, taking the cloth from my hand and tossing it into the sink, as opposed to folding it neatly, as I would have done. "I'm willing to do that, if you're willing to tell me everything that's going on with you," she said, standing beside me and stretching her back until it popped. "I reckon that all of your jumpiness is because of that package that you received from that old bat that used to be your mother-in-law, the one that Mr. Forrest isn't supposed to know about, am I right?"

The old bat indeed, God but I despised that woman. I'd hated her before I'd walked down the aisle to be Walton's wife, I'd detested her all the more after I'd said my vows, and my loathing toward her had only grown in the years that had passed since he'd died. I don't know why I wasted so much of my time and energy on hating her and Willard, Lord knows it didn't hurt them in the least, but I just couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried, and now they were back in my life, they were actively working against me and those that I loved, and fear that was unlike any that I'd felt in years took hold of me when I contemplated all that was possible, if I wasn't as careful as I ought to be.

"You are indeed," I said, releasing a deep breath that I hadn't even remembered drawing, let alone holding. "I can't go into the details about what was in that package, but suffice it to say that it would possibly cause harm to everyone that I love and care about if I was to mention it to anyone, especially to Forrest….."

"I was never all that fond of your husband, or of his brothers neither, because I reckoned that their selling to Ellery is what made him the way that he is, but working here has given me a different way of looking at things, Emma. Your man is one of the good ones, and Lord knows that they're a rare breed, but they're the sort that you can tell things to, if they love you, and they might huff and puff a bit, but in the end they're going to keep on loving you anyway, so there's nothing, and no one, that ought to have you keeping secrets from him, because that's what will hurt him in the end, not the secret, Emma, but the fact that you kept it from him."

I knew that she was right. I knew that Forrest would be angry when he found out that I'd been keeping a secret from him, not because of the actual secret itself, but because I hadn't been honest with him right from the start. I also knew that it was in his blood, it was inside of all of them, of each and every Bondurant, to meet their enemies face-to-face, no matter if it was someone who'd harmed their blood, or one that was connected to them by weaker bonds, though I didn't think of myself as someone who'd married into their family any longer. I might not have been born with their blood, but I felt like kin none the less, and I was fairly certain that they all viewed me that way as well, especially Forrest.

"I suppose that I ought to tell him, but what way would be best?" I asked, thinking to myself that her marriage wasn't exactly a happy one, but she still had a lot more experience than I did in these sorts of matters, and I would gladly welcome a bit of advice for how I ought to proceed. "This doesn't seem like the sort of thing that a man would want to hear about while he's trying to eat his supper….."

"Wait until you're getting ready for bed," she advised, and smiled at the look that came over my face, then laughed when I blushed. "It's best to make sure that you're both naked, and then, when you tell him, lean over and make sure that certain parts of you are touching certain parts of him while you whisper it in his ear, because nothing sounds crazy or upsetting if it's said in the right kind of voice."

I was scandalized by what she'd said, but I was drawn in as well. "How do you know that works?" I asked, my face going from warm to hot as I imagined doing exactly as she'd said. "Is it something that you've used on your husband?"

She laughed again, but this time there wasn't any humor to be heard in the sound. "No, ma'am, but he's used it on me plenty of times and it works just fine. You didn't think I'd let him get six young'uns on me without some powerful persuasion, did you?"

Forrest's POV

I was sitting in the shade at the home place, sharing a jar of peaches with Howard, even though, if the truth were to be known, I would have much preferred a nice glass of iced tea instead. It had been a long, hard day of helping Pa mend fences and pens that were going to pieces, and Jack had lit out just as soon as we were finished, eager to immerse himself in the company of Bertha Minnix, but I took the time to shoot the breeze with my big brother before I went home to my loving wife…though I might have followed Jack's example and hurried on my way, had I known the direction that the conversation was going to take.

"I would ask how married life has been treating you, but I can already tell that it suits you jus' fine," he began, tilting back his chair and setting his feet on the porch railing, one crossed over the other. "I reckon that you've been giving them cheeks of yours quite a workout, seeing as how you only smiled, what, maybe five times before you got yourself hitched to Miss Emma? Don't get me wrong, it's mighty nice to see you with a smile on your face, but I have to wonder if you're indulging in everything that a married man ought to try at least one time."

There was a little voice that told me that it was best if I left at that moment, before our conversation went any further, but for some reason I ignored it, and allowed my curiosity to get the best of me. "A man who's happy is hard pressed _not_ to smile," I said, throwing all of my common sense to the wind and stretching out in my chair, in the same manner that he'd used moments before. "And I reckon that I'm going to regret asking this, but what sort of indulgences are you referring to?"

He looked over at me and raised his eyebrows, and that little voice grew by leaps and bounds, but I stayed right where I was, like a damned fool who didn't know any better. "Well, I'll tell you, little brother, but before I do, I want you to remember that there are things that a man ought to keep an open mind about, things that you might not have heard of, but that don't mean that they're wrong, alright?"

Well, hell…this was going from bad to worse in a hurry, but Howard had been married a good spell longer than I had, and I supposed that his marriage to Lucy was one that was a happy one, for the most part, that is, therefore his advice was that which I ought to welcome, but try though I might, I just couldn't shake the feeling that he was set to tell me something that I wasn't all that keen on hearing.

"You've got something that you want to say, so you might as well spit it out," I said, taking another swig from the jar that we were sharing, not because I had a powerful thirst, but more in the hopes of bolstering myself for whatever it was that he had to say. "It's getting on close to suppertime, and I don't want to keep Emma waiting too long."

He chuckled deep in his throat and took the jar from me, draining half of it in one swallow. "She won't mind all that much, once you put my advice to work," he said, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he concentrated his gaze on the inch or so of liquid left in the jar, and the wedge of peach that was resting in its depths. "Tell me something, Forrest, if you will. How keen are you on the notion of eating a peach?"

Damned Howard, he was never one to keep his mind on the task at hand, once he'd had a few drinks. "What in the Sam Hill does that have to do with anything?" I asked, my temper growing swiftly as I watched him staring at that peach in the jar. "Truth is, I ain't never been all that fond of finishing the whole jar of peaches. I know that there are some who like to gobble down the fruit after the fire is gone, but I never found it to be to my taste….."

My voice died away as he started laughing, and my anger, which had just been a tiny spark, grew mightily as he continued to bray like a damned old jackass, leaning forward in his chair, resting his hands on his knees and spilling the last bit of peaches all over the porch. I started to rise out of my own chair, cussing and threatening beneath my breath, so as not to be overheard by Pa or my little sister neither, but Howard stopped me by reaching out and taking hold of my arm.

"Aw, hell, Forrest," he gasped, moving me back toward my chair. "Don't get all bent outta shape. I just didn't realize that you wouldn't know what I was talking about. Sit down now, and take a load off while I explain this to you. I promise that you'll lose the urge to knock my block off once you try this out on your missus and she follows you around all the next day with stars in her eyes."

I grudgingly took my seat and sat back, with my arms folded across my chest. I could imagine that I was the one who followed her around with that sort of lovelorn look on my face both day and night, and as angry as I was I couldn't help but be curious about something that would ensure that she would look at me that way. Granted, she always had love in her eyes when she looked at me, but there had been shadows there as of late as well, ones that she insisted were nothing to worry about whenever I asked about them, and it would be nice to have a way to get rid of them forever, if I could.

"Now then, when I say 'peach' I ain't talking about this kind here," he said, pointing to the fruit that had landed on the porch with the toe of his boot. "The peach that I'm talking about is a lot sweeter than that, as a matter of fact, it ain't got a pit at the center, it's got a little pot of honey instead, and right at the top it's got a little pinch of sugar that don't never disappear, no matter how many times you stroke at it….."

"Aw, hell," I muttered, feeling my face grow hot as it dawned on me what sort of peach he was talking about. Granted, I wasn't a man who was renowned for being overly quick on the uptake, but I wasn't a dullard either, and it was clear as day that the _peach_ that he was referring to was a woman's, that made perfect sense, but the part about _eating_ it made no sense at…..

"Oh, Lord," I whispered, turning to look at my brother with eyes that were wide, and undoubtedly comical in appearance, but he didn't laugh at me this time. He chose instead to smile at me, and to waggle his eyebrows up and down, and I found myself swamped by no fewer than a dozen feelings at one time, and damned if it wasn't curiosity and shock that topped the pile, to fight it out for which one would take the dominant position.

"Are you saying that I ought to….?"

My voice trailed away, and I couldn't form the words aloud, though my mind had no problem whatsoever in bringing the images to life, complete with color and sound and scents that I'd imagined, when I was feeling particularly bold, but had never dared to entertain any further than that. Granted, I'd never really considered such a thing being possible, let alone practiced, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to give it a try…and the more I wanted Howard to quit talking about it as well, because his voice was ruining the picture show in my mind, but damned if he didn't keep on jabbering away, like a pesky ol' magpie.

"It'll take a while to get your skills in place, just go slow and take your time….."

"Aw, hell, she ain't gonna let me do nothing like that," I interrupted, rising to my feet in a flash, with the hope that the reaction of my body to the images in my mind wouldn't be too obvious. "She's liable to smack me across the face if I even try."

He rose from his chair, wearing a smile that brought to mind a tom cat that'd just caught, and devoured, a nest full of canaries. "She'll be uncertain, to begin with, but once she gets a taste for it, little brother, she'll be begging you for some of it every night, jus' you wait 'n see."

I wasn't all that keen on the notion of Emma begging me for anything, but at the same time it was a powerful draw, to imagine something that would bring her so much satisfaction, and I had an idea to ask Howard for a little more information on the matter, even if it embarrassed me to speak the words aloud, but I heard a noise on the side of the porch and turned to see Pa making his way toward us.

"Hush up about all that," I said, jerking my head just a bit toward our father. "You don't want him to overhear you talking this way, do you?"

He started in laughing all over again and waved Pa over. "You ain't got no reason to worry about him," he said. "Who in hell do you think told me about it in the first place, little brother?"

* * *

It was all that I could do, to keep my hands, and every other part of me to myself once I made it back home, but somehow I managed to conduct myself like a gentleman, even though my hormones were running a race all throughout my body and making me hornier than a two-peckered goat. I just kept telling myself that I could try after supper, after everyone had gone home and we'd cleaned up and locked up. I just had to wait until then…whether I liked it or not.

She'd fried up some chicken for supper, and there were mashed potatoes and gravy, collard greens and buttermilk biscuits besides that, but the kicker came when she brought out dessert and I laid my eyes, as well as my nose, on the tantalizing sight and smell of peach cobbler, topped with cream. I couldn't say with any certainty whether or not someone somewhere was having fun with me, and playing one hell of a cruel trick, to tease me the way that they were, but damned if I didn't have one hell of a hard-on while I was partaking of that bowl of sweet and spicy goodness.

She seemed to be in spirits that were a little cheerier than they had been, which was a comfort to me, and surprisingly enough the hours went by fairly quickly, and before I knew it everyone had gone home. We finished our chores in record time and she went upstairs while I locked up, and tried to get a firm grip on my raging need, so that I wouldn't fall on her like a stallion that'd sniffed a mare in heat just as soon as I walked through the bedroom door.

I did a fairly good job of getting myself under control, if I did say so myself, but all of my good intentions went right out the window when I walked through our bedroom door and found her waiting for me on the bed, naked as a newborn babe, with a smile on her face that couldn't be taken as anything other than a welcoming invitation.

"Hello, lover," she purred, running her hand over her breasts, then down over her tummy, to trace her fingertips over the exact spot that I was hoping to kiss before the night was out. "Why don't you come over here and show me how happy you are to see me?"


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Forrest's POV

There wasn't a day that went by when I wasn't fully aware of how lucky I was, truth be told it was something that I thought of quite a bit, but standing there as I was, looking across the room at my wife, who was naked and smiling and looking downright beguiling on our bed, I realized that I had to be the luckiest man in the nation, possibly even in the whole wide world, and that was something that made me smile.

"Hmm…can't you tell how happy I am to see you?" I asked, slowly crossing the floor while I stripped my clothes off of my body, tossing them carelessly aside, when I normally would have taken the time to fold them neatly and place them in the chair that rested beside the bureau. "Or do you need more proof than _this_, Mrs. Bondurant?"

At one time in my life I would have been too shy to draw Emma's attention to the smile on my face to show her how happy I was to see her. It certainly wouldn't have occurred to me to do so while referring to my pecker, but that was exactly what I was indicating right then and there, because that was the one thing that was happy to make its presence known, and the closer I got to the bed, the more that it stood up, tall and proud.

Her eyes moved from my face, down to the spot that was swelling in response to her, and then they widened, so much that it was almost comical. She was acting mighty bold tonight, something that I hoped would continue as I introduced her to acts that she might consider to be a mite bit sinful in nature, and her behavior was clearly wearing off on me, because I usually wouldn't shuck down to the altogether until I was already lying in the bed beside her.

"That does say a good deal about how pleased you are, doesn't it, Mr. Bondurant?" she asked, in a voice that was soft, and sort of breathless. "Why don't you bring yourself over here and give me a kiss, then we'll see what I can do to make you even happier than you are right now. Does that sound like a good idea to you, honey?"

Yep, she was feeling mighty bold this evening, and her confidence worked like a charm at convincing me to slide onto the bed and take her into my arms, so that I could kiss her. You'd think that we'd be pretty comfortable with one another, considering all of the years that we'd known one another, but the truth of the matter was that we were still just a little shy with each other, and I hoped that what I planned on sharing with her tonight would help us to drop those barriers altogether…provided that she didn't run screaming from the room once she discovered what it was that I had in mind, that is.

"Hmm…you sure do taste sweet, darlin'," I whispered, trailing my lips along her jaw, pausing for just an instant to nip at her earlobe with my teeth, then continuing on a path down her throat. "Just like sugar, and all of that sweetness is mine for the taking, isn't it, Emma girl?"

Her breathing was starting to speed up and I could feel her nipples getting hard and poking against my chest, and a thought came to my mind that said that I ought to slide my hand between her thighs and start the act of stroking her to the first peak of her release, but I wanted to take things nice and slow, so as not to spook her, and kissed my way down to one of her rosy peaks instead, licking it slowly, drawing it into my mouth, so that I could suckle upon it and set her to writhing beneath me.

"It's all yours," she agreed, running her hands up the back of my head, so that she could play with my hair while I teased and wooed her. "It's never been anyone else's and it will never belong to anyone but you."

I knew that already, but it was something that I liked to have reaffirmed for me none the less. There were nights when I'd wake from an awful nightmare, one where I'd imagined everything that had to do with her loving me, and even though I knew that it wasn't real, I still couldn't help but be scared of the day coming when I'd wake up and find out that it had all been a dream.

I waited until she was whimpering, and then I ran my hand down over her belly, marveling, just like I always did, at the difference between her soft, silky skin and my calloused palm. Her thighs parted for me easily, eagerly, and I found that spot that was swollen and warm and wet, waiting for my caress. I touched her gently, almost humbly, and smiled just a little when I heard her breath catch, then release in a quiet shudder as my fingertip found, and drew forth, the tiny button that was shyly peeking out of her silken folds.

"Oh, Forrest," she murmured, closing her eyes and biting softly upon her lip, a whisper that grew to a whimper, then a moan, as she started to go to pieces. "Just like that honey, oh, sweet Lord, just like that."

It would have been the most natural thing in the world, not to mention the most satisfying, for me to slide between her thighs, to feel the soft warmth of her skin embracing my hips while her legs twined around my waist, pulling me in tight, and welcoming me to enter her sleek embrace, but I'd made up my mind before I entered the room what I meant to do, and I'd be damned if I was going to be lured off of the course before I saw my intentions all the way to the end.

Most times I would have waited for her to grow calm and quiet before I took the next step in my wooing, but I wanted to make the first move into unfamiliar waters while she was caught up in the fire that I'd roused to life within her, in the hope that she'd be less likely to protest my actions if she was still in the throes of being hot and bothered.

I moved down on the bed while she was caught up in the final shakes and moans of her release, and she welcomed my movements…until she noticed that I wasn't taking the place that I'd claimed for myself on our wedding night with my body, but with my head instead, and then her face took on a bewildered expression, one that quickly transformed to horror when some of the haze of her climax faded and she took the full measure of what was happening.

"What are you doing down there?" she whispered, her voice taking on a definite hint of desperation while she reached down and sought to take hold of me and drag me back up to a spot that was more acceptable to her. "Land sakes, Forrest, have you lost your mind completely?"

I would imagine that it would be a blow to the pride of any man to have the stability of his mind questioned in that particular tone of voice, but I was determined to stay strong, no matter what. That was why I fought her attempts to thwart me as gently as possible, that was why I laid a hand on each of her knees and opened her to my gaze, that was why I turned my head and kissed one thigh, very softly, followed closely by the other, and that was the touch that made her grow still, and silenced her, at least for the moment, from telling me that I had to stop.

"Hush now, darlin'," I murmured, keeping the stroke of my lips very light, until I felt that she was beginning to relax, and then I opened my mouth and ran the tip of my tongue over her thigh. She sucked in a deep breath and dug her heels into the mattress in response, looking down at me through the tent made by her knees and growing very still, her eyes going wide and panicked when I moved up on the bed, trailing my mouth further and further up her thigh, until I was hovering right beside her hidden treasure.

"Oh, Lord, you can't be serious Forrest," she said, in a voice that was strained and panicky. "I don't know how you came about such a notion, but you cannot do what I'm thinking that you aim to do. First of all, I don't think that such a thing is possible, and even if it is, it's surely a sin, and the Almighty's liable to strike us down if we dabble….."

Well, I'd expected her to fuss with me about my intentions, but I hadn't expected her to launch into a sermon, and I couldn't help but laugh a little, even though it was undoubtedly unwise of me to do so. "Hmm…there are mentions of lovemaking in the Good Book, darlin', but I can't recollect the Almighty saying anything about a man being forbidden from tasting his wife the way that I mean to sample you, so that means that we're not sinning at all, so why would He feel the need to strike us down?"

I'd hoped to soothe her somewhat, but the look on her face hadn't changed at all, which meant that she was determined to be stubborn. "You talk about this like you're an expert on the matter, Forrest Bondurant," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, in an attempt to look chastising, but I was a mite bit too distracted by what her arms did to enhance her bosom to feel very contrite. "Just how long have you been planning to do this to me?"

I really and truly wished that I was an expert on the matter. That would have certainly helped to put my mind at ease. I suppose that I could have playacted a little, I could have pretended to know all about what I was doing, but I wasn't all that keen on the notion of being dishonest with her. I was just going to have to put my best seduction techniques to work…it was just a shame that I wasn't an expert in being a lothario either.

"Hmm…I ain't no expert, Emma girl," I admitted with a sigh. "And I ain't been plotting and planning beyond today, because I just now heard about all of this business, and it sounded like something that I ought to try, at least once, if I could talk you into it, that is."

The look on her face changed just a bit, grew more curious, as opposed to being just scared and horrified. "Doesn't it look kind of, well, _odd_ down there? I can't imagine that I look very pretty to you, and I am sure that it doesn't, well, what I mean is that it can't, hmm, it probably doesn't, well, you know….."

Her face turned a shade of beet red that looked like it had to have hurt, and she hemmed and hawed a bit, but couldn't get the words to leave her mouth, but she didn't need to. I might not have been the smartest man in the world, but I sure as hell wasn't the dimmest neither, and it was obvious what was bothering her, which spoke volumes about the fact that she had no idea what sort of thing got a man's blood pumping.

I hovered my face over her, almost, but not quite touching her with the tip of my nose. "Hmm…you look exactly how a woman is meant to look, sweetheart, and I have to say that it is a mighty fetching sight, one that reaches out and takes hold of a man in a way that won't let go. That being said, there ain't a spot on you that ain't the prettiest thing that I've ever seen, darlin', and this is no different. As for the other, well, let's just say that it's something that makes me want you even more, it sets my heart to beating faster and faster and gives me a powerful urge to love you as thoroughly as possible, so how could it possibly be something that is distasteful to me?"

She lowered her gaze away from mine and smiled, then lifted her head to look at me once more. "So you mean to tell me that you're bound and determined to know me in this way, husband?" she asked softly, reaching down to twine a lock of my hair 'round her finger.

"Yes, ma'am, I am," I answered, turning my head once more, to kiss first one thigh, and then the other. "I mean to make a thorough study of you, wife, but only if you're willing to let me do so."

She took a deep breath, and then sent me a smile that was so seductive in nature that I would have sworn it reached out and took hold of me by my pecker. "Well, then," she purred, pressing down gently upon the back of my head, "what are you waiting for?"

Emma's POV

He was always gentle with me, even in the height of his passion he handled me tenderly, but he seemed to be taking even more care this time. His fingertips parted me and he moved his head closer, so that I could feel his breath warm on my skin, and it was in that moment, right before the plunge, that I remembered everything that I wanted to talk to him about, everything that I needed to confess, and I felt a small tremor of apprehension, but then the tip of his tongue touched me, very softly, almost tentatively, and all of my thoughts and fears left me in an instant, and I couldn't think about anything that wasn't wrapped up in what was happening to me at that moment.

He traced me, first up, then back down, then up once more, and that time he found that spot that he liked to tease with the tip of his finger, that place that always made me moan and whimper while I writhed upon the bed. I gasped when I felt the first silken caress of his tongue, then bit down upon my lip while he circled the button of flesh, mimicking the movements that he normally made with his fingertip, until the pressure grew and grew, consuming me from within until I was writhing and clawing at the covers like a wildcat, and still he wouldn't stop, he wouldn't give me any mercy, he continued on until I shattered, screaming his name until I would have sworn that it filled the room and shook the walls.

My God, I was a wanton and what was worse than that was the fact that I was so easily swayed, that I was just plain easy altogether. It had been a notion that had been horrifying to begin with, the idea that he would put his mouth on me _down there_, that he would even consider making love to me in that way, but once I got used to the idea…well, let's just say that I couldn't understand why on earth I ever would have objected to such a thing in the first place.

I thought that would be the end of it, me coming apart at the seams the way that I had. I thought that him loving me that way was finished, at least for the time being, and though I'd be sad to see it go, at least I had other things to look forward to. But then he looked up at me from his resting spot between my thighs and smiled at me in a way that I would have sworn I felt deep within the recesses of that which laid between my legs, and then I blushed, and felt downright mortified, but foolishly proud as well, by the words that he spoke to me.

"Hmm…that's a mighty sweet peach," he murmured, kissing my thighs, and even biting, very gently, upon the supersensitive flesh that rested right beside the source of my femininity. "I think that you might have spoiled me for any other kind than this one right here for the rest of my life, darlin'."

Dear Lord, but he was brazen and bold all of the sudden, wasn't he? I ought to have been taken aback by his words, truth be told, I ought to have been shocked, but for some odd reason I felt that sense of satisfaction again, the one that glorified in the fact that I'd awoken this new desire in him…though, now that I thought about it, I realized that it was someone else who'd inspired him today, someone other than me…..

Oh, help.

The only ones that he'd seen today had been his father and his brothers…well, and his sister Emmy as well, but I had a pretty good notion that she hadn't been telling tales, which left the male suspects. I don't know which one of the trio would be the worst to contemplate, but I was on the verge of asking him all about it, and letting my outrage be known, but he led me astray by kissing his way back to my swollen and sated flesh, dispelling my earlier notion that he was done with that sort of thing for the night.

I felt his fingertip, wonderfully calloused, as it circled, then entered me, slowly sliding inside of me. I arched a little, and moaned very softly, then gasped with wonder, and just a little bit of surprise, when I felt a second finger join the first, making me very full, almost painfully so. I was used to being filled and stretched by him, it had taken a little while for us to get that right, so that it didn't hurt me, but this was different, this felt kind of strange, it seemed like too much…and then his tongue touched me in my special spot, and I forgot all about my reservations.

He'd used the tip before, but this time he employed the flat of his tongue, pushing against me in a slow and steady rhythm, until my breathing had accelerated and I started to move beneath him…and then he started to curl his fingers within me, bending them in a 'come here' kind of motion, that rubbed against the part of me that he always caressed when we made love in the traditional fashion, and it wasn't long before I was going crazy again, before I was digging my heels into the mattress and moving myself against him…and then I shattered all over again.

The first climax that he'd given me had been intense, it had taken hold of me in every way possible, but it had nothing at all on what I was feeling at that moment. It was a good thing that no one lived with us, or in the nearby surrounding area, because I could easily imagine that they would think that I was being murdered, what with the way that I was screaming like a banshee. My muscles clenched so tight that it hurt and tears ran freely from my eyes, and then Forrest was moving up on the bed, kissing his way over my thighs, then my tummy and my breasts, and finally over my neck, to rest fiercely on my lips.

I was exhausted by that point, but I fully expected, and even welcomed the notion of him making love to me in the way that he usually did, but he took me into his arms instead, kissing me and whispering lovey-dovey nonsense that made me smile. Apparently he intended to allow me to rest and at first that sounded good…until it dawned on me that I could return the favor of what he'd just done, and then I was wide-awake.

I turned to look at him, to smile wickedly, and then I started to slide down on the mattress, until I was lying between his legs. His eyes grew wide, so much that it was almost comical, and there was apprehension there, but there was indecision as well, and what was more, there was desire, there was longing and need, and I knew that it wouldn't take much effort to convince him to see things my way.

"Oh, darlin', you don't have to," he said, gripping the covers, very hard, with his fists, until his knuckles turned white. "Hmm…that is, well, I mean, I _want_ you to, but you don't have….."

I took him in my hand, marveling at the silky feel of his flesh, covering all of that throbbing hardness, and made him growl deep in his throat by kissing him, very gently, on the tip of his masculinity. "Of course I don't have to," I said, trailing the tip of my tongue along his length, from the base to the peak, then back down again, marveling at the sounds that I drew from him as I did so. "But I certainly want to."

He smiled at me, a beam that looked more like a grimace, and groaned through teeth that were tightly clenched. "Well, then, sweetheart, what are you waiting for?"

A/N: I honestly intended for there to be a bit of plot in this chapter, but I ended up with pure smut instead. I promise that there will be elements that are important to the story in the next chapter, so please bear with me…I should probably add that I absolutely loved writing this installment, as long as I'm being honest, and I hope that you enjoyed reading it, even if there wasn't any plot to be found.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Emma's POV

I never could have imagined that it was possible to experience passion like that which Forrest and I had just found with one another, and it was a wonderful thing, to know that I could feel it each and every night, and maybe even during the day, but it was a burden as well, because how on earth could I be expected to do the work that was necessary in my day-to-day life, if I constantly felt the urge to ravish my husband?

Of course, I'd already experienced a great deal of passion with Forrest, he'd always loved me in ways that made me tingly and quivery, in manners that had me shouting to the rafters as the waves of release took hold of me, but I'd never known about all of the wondrous possibilities for heightened fervor that existed in the sensual application of a man's fingers, not to mention his mouth, and most especially, his tongue.

Had I not been so deliciously warm and languid afterward, I might have been more guarded with my words. I might have measured what I meant to say, so as not to agitate my husband, who was equally warm, I would imagine, and just as languid, if the blissfully sleepy smile that he was wearing was any indication. I'd intended to tell him the truth of things after we'd made love, but I hadn't readied myself for the seduction that he'd had in mind for me, simply because I hadn't known that such a thing was possible, and that was why my mind was turned to mush, and that was why I blurted out my words, instead of presenting them carefully, like an intelligent woman would do.

"I lied to you," I said softly, running my hand through the patch of hair that covered his chest, then further up, so that I could run a fingertip across the scar that covered his throat from one side to the other. "I ought to have told you sooner, but I was too scared, and I'm sorry for keeping things from you. Can you forgive me for what I've done?"

Lord, what was wrong with me? I ought to have paused, to have given him time to absorb each and every thing that I was saying, rather than blurting everything out, all jumbled up together, so that he was hit with one blow after another. He was bound to be angry, there was no avoiding that, but confusing him would only make things worse, of that I was certain, and now there was no way of avoiding the fact that I'd just done exactly what I didn't want to do.

"Hmm…what do you mean by that, darlin'?" he asked sleepily, turning to pull me closer into the warm strength of his embrace. "What are you talking about, Emma girl?"

There was confusion to be heard in his voice, just as I'd expected there would be, but there was a sweetness there as well, one that had him calling me his _darlin'_ and his _Emma girl_, which were things that he said to me when he was happy and content, and I hated knowing that I was going to be responsible for taking both of those things away from him.

I knew that I ought to answer him right away, once I saw that he was beginning to awaken, but my nerve failed me as I watched his eyelids flutter, then slowly open, and those beautiful eyes of his moved to my face, and stayed there, as confusion took the place of drowsiness. His arms tightened on me, even though his smile had begun to fade, and he drew back his head, as if he was studying me, and his eyes narrowed, and grew sharper as my words began to pierce the fog that always accompanied those moments after we'd made love.

"Emma, what do you mean?" he asked, moving back to sit up against the pillows, and pulling me up with him. "What lies have you told me? What have you been keeping from me?"

There was plenty of confusion in his voice, but there was a hint of anger edging his words as well, and I could see the barest hint of his temper as it started to heat his eyes from within. There was a part of me, a small part, mind you, that didn't think that it was fair for him to be getting angry when he hadn't heard all that I had to say, but the majority of me knew that he had every right to do so, based on what I'd already said, because who wouldn't be mad, knowing that they'd been lied to?

"Walton's mother sent me a package in the mail a little over a week ago," I began, grasping at each and every scrap of my nerve that I could muster, which wasn't all that easy, given the stormy look that had taken hold of his face. "There was a card inside, congratulating me on our wedding, and to remind me of certain _obligations_ that I owed to the Cantrell family, along with a crystal vase that Billy Oglethorpe gave to Walton and me when we got married, a vase that Mother Cantrell took when Walton died…the vase that was found beside Billy Oglethorpe's dead body, with a cracked edge, stained with his blood."

What on earth was wrong with me, for goodness' sake? Forrest was the one who had trouble from time to time with communicating, not me. I'd meant to tell him the story slowly, so that he would have the chance to absorb each point, though, now that I thought about it, I realized that what I'd told him would have been even worse, it would have enraged him even more, had I done so slowly and steadily, so maybe it was for the best, for both of us, that I'd revealed everything at once…though the look that was in his eyes told me that I'd still managed to flare his temper fully to life none the less.

"And what did you do with this package?" he asked, well, growled, is more like it. "Hmm…did you hide the damned thing, or did you throw it away instead, so that I would be less likely to stumble across it for myself?"

I knew that he'd be mad, I'd prepared myself for that, but I couldn't help but flinch just a little when I heard the roughness of his voice, and the accusatory tone that sharpened each word that he spoke. I knew that lying was a sin, and I'd betrayed him by keeping the truth from him, so it was only right that I had to take the full brunt of what I'd done, but knowing and doing were two very different things, and it certainly didn't make what I was going through at that moment any easier.

"I put it in the bottom of that old chiffarobe in Howard's room," I said, deliberately avoiding the word _hidden_, even though I knew it wouldn't make a damned bit of difference in the long run. "I'd thought at first to get rid of it, I don't know why I held onto it, but it's there, if you want me to show it to you."

Escaping our bedroom, even if only for a moment, sounded like a wonderful idea, but he wasn't having any of it. He moved out of the bed and fetched his britches, which he'd carelessly tossed aside in his fever to get to me, as opposed to folding them neatly, as he normally would have done. I had a moment to enjoy the sight of his naked form, marked all over with the scars of his life, and an angry looking weal here and there on his back, that I'd raised myself, while he was loving me, and then he was turning back to the bed, wearing a look on his face that pretty well personified tempestuous.

"I reckon that I can find it easily enough, now that I know where it's at," he said, moving across the floor and wrenching open the door with enough force to undoubtedly do permanent damage to the hinges. "You wait right here for me, little missy, don't even think about moving your fanny outta that bed, else there will be hell to pay, you catch my drift?"

I had a good idea that he would just as soon cut off his own hand before he'd apply it to my person in any way that wasn't loving in nature, but I wasn't going to tempt his anger any further than I already had, not on purpose, at least. I pulled up the bedclothes, covering myself as well as I could, and did my best not to cry while I listened to him stomp his way down the hallway, failing miserably as I heard him jerk open the door of Howard's old bedroom, bouncing it off of the wall with a bang that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire station.

It didn't take him long to find the box and he was back in our room before I could wipe the tears off of my cheeks, and I worried for a moment that he might have thought that I was crying in an effort to sway his favor back toward me, which was not my intention at all. I knew that there were plenty of women who employed those sorts of methods to get their way, or to get themselves out of trouble, but I was not one of them, and, if the truth was to be known, I despised them for using emotions to guarantee that things would work in their favor.

His eyes softened somewhat when he saw my tears, and they also grew a little bit sad as well, but neither were enough to take the lead over the fury that had turned what was green and beautiful into what was almost black in hue and frightening to behold. He had the box tucked beneath his arm, and I waited for him to open it, but he stood by the bed and looked down at me instead, with a furiously ticking muscle working in his jaw that underscored his anger, as if I'd needed any further proof.

"When you said that you were scared, did you mean that you felt that way for me, or because of me?" he asked gruffly, shifting the box from beneath one arm to the other. "Hmm…what I mean to say is, have I done something that makes you think that you have a reason to fear me, or are you afraid _for_ me instead?"

I would have thought that he would know by now that I wasn't scared of him, that I never had been and I never would be, but maybe there was something in my expression or my body language, or maybe even a mixture of the two that told him something different, and it made sense that he was angry about that, in addition to the knowledge that I'd been secretive about something that was so important. He might not have been all that gentle with most anyone else, but he'd always been that way with me, and I could see how the thought that I feared him would set loose a whole gamut of emotions, all of them bad, within him.

"You've never given me any reason to be scared of you, Forrest," I murmured, wishing that he would sit beside me on the bed, so that we could talk calmly and rationally, so that I could hold his hand and kiss his cheek and tell him that I was sorry, and that I'd never meant to hurt him, but he was too deeply mired in being mad at me to even consider a proposal like that, and I was wise enough to keep it to myself. "You're the best man that I've ever known, and you would never raise a hand to me because it's just not in your nature to do so. When I said that I was scared, I meant that I felt that way for you, for the family, and for me as well….."

"This here is the Bondurant family that you're referring to," he interrupted, placing the package from my former mother-in-law onto the bed with a bit more force than what was necessary. "That's me, that's my kin, and that's you as well, Emma, the day that I slid that ring onto your finger, and we don't scrape to no one on this earth, we don't bow to them, we don't roll over and we don't lie down. I don't give a half a damn if it harelips the governor, Missus, I ain't gonna stand back and let anyone threaten me or mine, not while I got a breath of life left in me!"

He was almost shouting by that point, which was a rarity for him, as a matter of fact, I couldn't remember another time in my life when I'd heard him raise his voice like that. I might have known that he was going to let his pride take precedence over his common sense, I might have known that he was going to get his nose out of joint over the idea of me being afraid for him, as if that somehow diminished his manhood. I had a good idea to give him a piece of my mind, and show him what honest to goodness shouting sounded like, but he barely paused to take a breath, and then he continued on telling me his version of how it was.

"Hmm…have I given you a reason to make you think that I need a woman, that I need my _wife_ to protect me?" he asked quietly, dangerously, his voice deliberately and deceptively calm, which was quite a change from what it had been just a moment before. "I always thought of myself as being a strong man, one who could hold his own in any fight, hmm, I didn't realize that I needed you to hold my hand and keep me safe from an old woman and her sniveling snake of a son."

_Oh, Lord, help me and save me from the wounded male ego_, I thought to myself. "You _are_ a strong man, Forrest," I said, doing my best to keep the irritation that I felt out of my voice. "You don't need me to protect you; I just wanted to keep you out of all of this, because it's not your problem and I….."

My voice trailed away when I saw him flinch, and draw back, as if I'd struck him and it dawned on me what I'd said, what I hadn't meant to say, at least, I hadn't meant it in that way. "I don't mean that….."

"Don't hand me that horseshit, woman," he thundered, running his hands through his hair and pulling on it, very hard. "Don't try to baby me, or placate me, because I'm through listening to you. If I leave right now, I can keep myself from saying or doing something that we'll both regret, but so help me God, I can't be held responsible for my actions if you say one more word, you catch my drift?"

I nodded and felt numb all over as I watched him stalk out of the room, slamming the door behind him, a benevolent detachment that stayed firmly in place until I heard him open, then slam, the door of the room that he'd slept in when I first came to stay at the station, and then I gave into the tears, I let them take me and claim me, and fell asleep, many hours later, with them wet upon my cheeks.

Forrest's POV

I couldn't think straight, because my head was pounding like a drum. I could barely keep my eyes open, and forcing them to stay in that position felt like torture, because I'd barely had any sleep at all. My damn back felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to it, and I found myself muttering about it beneath my breath more often than I ought to. It was a hell of a thing, to have tasted heaven on earth, only to be plunged into hades afterward, and I knew that Emma hadn't fared any better than I had, crying the night away in our bed, while I laid on that lumpy old mattress in my old room, my heart tearing in two with every sob that I heard, while I did my damnedest not to join her, and failed miserably in the end.

I wanted to go over and talk to her, to tell her that I was sorry, and that I hadn't meant any of it, and that I knew that she regretted hiding things from me, and that we could move on, but I stayed where I was instead, watching her from across the room while she waited on one customer after another, tending to the rush that always hit us before a run. Finally the last one was tended to, and then she disappeared upstairs, which was fine, because I could handle the straggling old timers scattered here and there, playing cards and sipping corn 'til closing time, all on my own.

"It looks like you didn't pay attention to a damned thing that I said yesterday, baby brother. Least if you did, you mucked things up good and proper afterwards, judging by the state of you and your lovely bride this morning."

Damned Howard, I might have known that he'd find a way to mention the discussion that we'd had, and I was tempted to tell him to go home and leave me be, but I needed his help for the deliveries, and I needed Jack's as well…though it seemed that our little brother hadn't bothered to make an appearance. I might have known that his decision to move back to the old homestead, to give me and Emma our _privacy_ would turn out to be for his own benefit. This was probably just the beginning of behavior that would have him shirking all of his chores, on the notion that I wouldn't travel to Pa's to plant my boot into his backside, but he was sadly mistaken on that count, and it heartened me somewhat, to know that I could work some of my lingering aggression off on him.

"It ain't none of your damned business what goes on between me and Emma," I growled, then stifled a grimace when I saw his eyes light up and the corners of his mouth quirk in response to my words, though, if I had to guess, I'd say that it was my tone that tickled him the most. "Where in the hell is Jack? I swear by all that's holy, if he thinks that he's going to get outta his responsibilities, just because he's living back home with Pa, he's got another thing coming….."

"He's sicker than a dog, Forrest, I seen that clear as day with my own two eyes," Howard interrupted, holding up his hands in front of him, in the manner of one who was surrendering when I turned to glare at him. "I went to boot him outta his bed myself, but it didn't take me long to see that he was downright green around the gills and his forehead was hot enough to fry an egg, if I'd been of a mind to do just that, so I left him there and stopped by to ask Bertha if she'd look in on him and nurse him back to health. Emmy's got her hands full with the chores around the place, and even if Pa had the time, I think we both know that he wasn't meant to be a nurturing person….."

"Aw, who in the hell gives a good goldamn, Howard?" I asked furiously, careful to keep my voice as low as possible, when what I wanted more than anything was to shout, preferably while I kicked a couple of chairs across the room, even though I knew that doing so would be childish, not to mention a waste of my time. "We'd best get these old farts outta here, so that we can lock the doors and get a move on. Lord knows it was going to be a long day anyway, but it just got a hell of a lot longer, didn't it?"

He started smiling at me, the sort of grin that told me that he had a secret, one that would piss me off, once I found out what it was. I knew that smile, I'd seen it more than I liked to remember throughout my life, and each and every time that it had appeared, something had happened that had made me seriously consider removing my big brother's head from his shoulders, or, in more extreme circumstances, his nuts from between his legs, and I had a feeling, a really bad feeling, that this was going to be one of those times when I contemplated raising his voice by an octave or two.

"We'll be jus' fine, little brother," he said, nodding his head at someone who was standing behind me, in the vicinity of the stairs. "I already found us a replacement, and she promised me that she can drive jus' as well as Jack, though, if you was to ask me, I'd say that she's probably a damn sight better'n him."

I didn't want to turn around and look at our "driver", I already knew who it was, and I was already starting to boil, but it couldn't be helped. I had to turn around and look at her, because that was the only way for me to tell her to scoot her fanny back up the stairs before I lost my temper good and proper. What I hadn't expected was to have the air knocked from me, like someone had walloped me in the chest, while my pecker jumped up inside my britches and knocked itself against my zipper, when I took in the sight of my wife while she made her way down the stairs.

I recognized the trousers that she was wearing, that is, the ones that were outlining each and every curve that she possessed below the waist, because they were mine, a pair that hadn't fit since I was a boy, ones that I'd stuck in a trunk in my old room years ago. I couldn't say what my own backside had looked like inside of those britches, because I hadn't surveyed my hind end at any time in my life, but I had a pretty good idea that it had never looked as appealing as my wife's did, and I saw that I wasn't the only one in the room who noticed, and appreciated the sight, when she reached the bottom of the stairs and moved toward Howard and me…though that wasn't all they were gawking at, I would imagine, considering that she'd found an old shirt of mine as well, and was filling it out just as well as she rounded out the pants.

"What in the hell do you think that you're wearing?" I growled, moving toward her while I glowered at all of the gawking sons of bitches in the room, my own brother included. "Hmm…it ain't fitting for a lady to go around dressed like that, especially when she's my wife, and my wife isn't going to be gallivanting 'round the county, driving a hooch wagon neither, so you might as well put that foolishness out of your head right now, little missy….."

"There's no one else to drive for you, and you need to make your deliveries, for the family, and since I'm a Bondurant, since I'm part of the family, and part of the business, I'm going to do my part to help," she said, not backing down an inch, going so far as to plant herself right in front of me. "And there's nothing at all wrong with a woman wearing trousers. Bertha Minnix wears them from time to time, and I saw a photo of Katharine Hepburn wearing a pair in a magazine just the other day….."

"I don't give a flaming damn about what Bertha Minnix wears, and I sure as hell don't care what Katharine Hepburn wears, I only care what you wear, and I'm telling you right here and right now that you are _not_ going to wear those britches!" I roared, forgetting that I meant to stay cool and calm and collected in front of everyone. "You're going to march yourself right back up those stairs and change into something decent, and then you're going to stay right here, like you do every time we go on a run, and I don't want to hear another word about it!"

I heard Howard snort, and there were whispers all throughout the room, like it was a bunch of old women who were in residence, as opposed to the coots that made a habit of playing cards and sipping corn whenever the doors of our establishment were opened to them. I was getting just a little desperate with my desire to save face, and to establish my place as the one who wore the pants in my family, but damned if my wife didn't take on a stance that was even more determined in nature, as she placed her hands on her hips and jutted out her jaw, behavior that further fueled my temper…not to mention my raging libido.

"I'm going with you, I'm going to help you, because you need me, whether you'll admit it or not," she said softly, but in a no-nonsense tone that told me that she wouldn't hear another word of opposition from me, as if I was a misbehaving child. "And this is what I'm wearing, because a dress would hardly be a practical or comfortable choice for driving that old rattletrap truck of yours, don't you think?"

Why was she asking me for my opinion, since she already knew what it was? Did she honestly believe that she could sway me to her way of thinking, just because she was using a soft, but firm tone of voice? "Emma, every man in this room, me included, is getting an eyeful of the shape of your backside," I told her, trying a different tack, the one that I hoped would shame her and send her running for our room. "Hmm…don't you feel a little strange, knowing that they're looking you up one side and down the other?"

I hoped that she would be embarrassed, but I suppose that was asking for too much, wasn't it? "I'm sure that they've seen plenty of female bottoms in their life," she said, giggling just a little as she spoke, like this whole damned situation was humorous to her. "And I know for a fact that you've seen mine lots of times, in more delicate circumstances than this one, as a matter of fact, so I can't even understand why you're bothering to look."

Howard didn't just snort that time. Nope, he choked and sputtered, and then started howling with laughter, so much so that he had to bend over and grab ahold of his knees for support. The oldsters in the room hadn't heard what she said, even if they'd turned up their hearing aids, but they saw my brother making a damned spectacle of himself and decided to join in anyway, and it wasn't long before the whole room was filled with laughter.

"Hmm…the day that I don't take the time to sit back and admire the shape of your backside is the day that you'd better jump on the horn to the undertaker, because I'll be dead," I said, as calmly and quietly as I could, an effort that I might as well have saved myself, because she joined in the racket around me with a hoot of laughter of her own. "Now, are you going to change your clothes, Missus, or am I going to have to bend you over my knee and tan your hide?"

If I'd been hoping to intimidate her, which had been my intention, then I failed miserably, because she didn't look scared at all. First she giggled at me, and then she leaned forward, so that she could whisper in my ear.

"Are you going to spank me with my pants on or off?"

Lord have mercy. I hadn't needed another excuse for my pecker to bob around in my britches, but she'd given me one anyway. Aw, who was I kidding? It wouldn't have mattered if her hind end was covered or bare, I would have still been raring to go before I gave her the first swat…though the prospect of smacking the flat of my hand against her naked backside was one that sounded mighty fine to me at that moment.

"Hmm…well, I mean, hmm, I ain't rightly certain, hmm, that is….."

"Because we wouldn't want to do anything that might run the risk of us making up from our fight, now would we?" she whispered, standing on her tiptoes, so that her lips were right next to my ear, nipping my earlobe with her teeth, then licking the spot that she'd bitten. "Though that would be just fine with me, honey, if that was what you had in mind."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Forrest's POV

"I'm sorry, Forrest," she said, not for the first time that night, and I had a good idea that it wouldn't be the last time I heard her speak those words to me, though it would have been just fine if it had been. "I didn't think that they would do that sort of thing to a woman. I mean, honestly, what sort of man goes around hitting on womenfolk?"

I had a good notion to tell her that Hal Leman had probably hit her because the sight of a woman in britches had confused him, and he'd thought that she was a man when he swung at her, but I didn't, because it would have been mean of me to do so, not to mention the fact that my words would have been an out-and-out lie. There was not a single man in God's creation who would take in the sight of her shapely form in my old trousers and shirt and mistake her as anyone other than a member of the so-called weaker sex, and the truth of the matter was that Hal was meaner than a cottonmouth with a toothache, and he was always hankering to hit somebody, and today that somebody had been my wife, though I can assure you that it was a mistake that he would not be making a second time.

"Hmm…didn't I tell you that you had no business a 'tall driving 'round with me 'n Howard?" I asked, doing my best to hide a wince when I poured a healthy dose of corn on the cut on her cheek, even though she barely flinched herself. "This is exactly why I didn't want you gallivanting all over the county in that sort of getup. There ain't nothing to be gained from a lady wearing britches and hauling liquor 'cept trouble, and that's what you found, wasn't it, little missy?"

I took a moment to dip the needle that I was going to use to stitch her flesh back together in a cracked blue dish filled with a little of our home brew, to kill any germs that might have been crawling all over its surface. Disinfecting the tools that I would use was important, but that wasn't the only reason that I was taking my time and moving nice and slow. The truth of the matter was that I kept breaking out in a cold sweat, brought on by the knowledge that I was going to have to pierce her soft flesh with the needle, that I was going to have to draw that ugly black thread through her skin again and again. I was tempted to drain the corn from the dish, a little liquid courage to get me on the track that I needed to travel, but I left it right where it was and gave myself a little internal pep talk instead.

_Pull yourself together and quit acting like a hysterical little girl_, I told myself firmly, in the harshest voice that I could muster inside of my head. _You act like she's got a serious cut, when the truth of the matter is that you've seen paper cuts that are worse 'n what she's got, haven't you...well…haven't you_?

My inner voice was an insistent little son of a bitch, and pushy as hell too, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't convince me that I didn't have a valid reason for getting all worked up over the gash on Emma's cheek. It was true that I'd seen cuts that were a lot worse than the one that she had, and most of them were in residence on my own body, but this was a cut that had the audacity to be resting on the face of the woman that I loved, and it made me mad, to see her hurt, as a matter of fact, it was all that I could do to keep my temper in check, lest I do or say something that both she and I would regret.

"You and Howard needed help, and I didn't see anyone else jumping up and down to volunteer," she hissed at me, looking a damned sight prettier than she ought to look, with a cut that was welling and sending one thin rivulet after another coursing down her cheek, just like teardrops. "And I told you once, and I'll tell you a hundred more times, if you want me to, that there's nothing at all wrong with a woman wearing britches….."

"Hmm…wait just a minute there, missy….."

"And my name isn't 'Missy' neither," she said heatedly, stomping her foot against the floor, like a little girl who was on the verge of throwing a hissy fit. "And I'd consider it a kindness if you'd do your best to remember that, and stop talking to me like I'm a disobedient child who's in need of a spanking….."

"Well, I'd say that you're doing a fine job of asking for that spanking, _Emma_, because I'm just about ready to bend you over my knee and warm up your backside for you….."

"I think that you're kind of fixated on the notion of spanking me, aren't you, _Forrest_?" she asked, in a tone that was a damned sight more cheeky than what I would have preferred, though the wicked part of my nature found it downright appealing, to hear that sharp and saucy note in her voice. "As a matter of fact, I've started to wonder if maybe you aren't a little too preoccupied with my backside altogether…what do you think about that, hmm?"

Well, damn, this was one hell of a quandary that I was in, wasn't it? There was no doubt in anyone's mind that I loved my wife with a fierceness that could scarcely be rivaled and could never be surpassed, and as such, it did all sorts of things to me, all over my body, primarily in my pecker, when she took on the role of the seductress. That being said, there were times, such as the one that we were in at that moment, when I needed to have all of my wits about me, and the last thing that I needed was for her to beguile me with her feminine wiles.

"Hmm…I don't think that anyone on this Earth would fault me for admiring your backside, Missus," I said, trying my damnedest to ignore the telltale huskiness that had taken hold of my voice, lest I begin entertaining the circumstances that could cause a man to sound that way. "Hellfire, I wouldn't imagine that the Lord Almighty would even take offense, given that He was the one who gave it to you, and seeing as how I'm your husband and all. That being said, I would rather stich your cheek, so that I know that you've been tended to before I ask Howard to see to this gash in my side, if you don't mind, so why don't we….."

The change in her was one that was instantaneous and unexpected, so much so that she damn near knocked me off of my feet when she flew up out of her chair and pulled up my vest and unfastened my shirt, searching out the injury that I'd kept hidden from her until that moment. She drew up the layers of clothing, drawing her bottom lip up between her teeth so that she'd have something to gnaw on while she looked me over. The look on her face spoke volumes about what she felt for me, and her fingertips were soft and gentle with their touch as they caressed the flesh all around my injury…though the tenor of her voice, and the way that she chastised me, made for a bedside manner that left a lot to be desired.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" she shrieked, making the inside of my ears throb, as an accompaniment to the burning pain in my side. "I can't believe that you were going to stich up that nothing of a cut on my face and not say one word about your side. Haven't you got the sense that God gave a chicken, Forrest Bondurant? And I can tell you right here and right now that Howard isn't going to be stitching this up for you neither. You're my husband, which means that I get dibs when it comes to who gets to tend your wounds…is that clear, Mister?"

I'll be the first one to admit that I'm a big softie where my wife is concerned, truth be told, there isn't much that I wouldn't do for her, if she was to ask, and I'd just as soon walk across broken glass barefoot than hurt her in any way. That being said, there were times when she pushed me too damned far and this was definitely one of those times.

"Hmm…I've been cut so many times that I can tell whether or not it's a serious wound just as soon as the knife makes contact with my flesh, darlin'. I decided that you were more important at the moment when a decision was necessary, because you are always more important to me, _Missus_, and a choice like that don't have a damned thing to do with sense….."

"Now, Forrest, there's no need at all for you to be getting your nose bent all out of shape….."

"The hell there ain't," I thundered, pushing her back down onto the chair, not as gently as I would have done, had I not been angry, but not roughly either. "I consider myself to be a calm and collected man most of the time, Emma, but how is a man supposed to react when his wife questions his intelligence and starts bossing him about like she's his momma instead of his bride? Now, I might not be the smartest man in creation, but I damn sure ain't the dumbest neither, and I already had one momma, darlin', I sure as hell don't need another one….."

"Now, Forrest, you know that I don't think that you're the least bit dumb, and you insult both of us by suggesting that I do….."

"_Suggest_, my hind end! You're the one who said that I didn't have 'the sense that God gave a chicken', and if that ain't calling a man dumb then I don't know what the hell….!"

"Is this a bad time for me to come calling?" Howard's voice interrupted us out of the blue, startling both of us into silence. "I know that you asked me to come by and stitch you up, Forrest, so's that Emma wouldn't get all het up over that gash that Hal Leman put in your side, but it sounds to me like I might be intruding, if I was to come in right now."

I felt my face burning, which was a perfect companion for the flush that I could see on my darling wife's cheeks. Damned Howard, he sure knew how to make an entrance, didn't he? He was leaning against the wall, just inside of the door, and neither me nor Emma had heard him make his entrance, but that wasn't surprising, because my big brother could move just as stealthy as a cat when he wanted to, in spite of his lumbering size and the fact that he was more than a few sheets to the wind most of the time.

"Just give me a few minutes, Howard," I said, moving to stand in front of Emma, whose bottom lip was trembling while tears filled her eyes, breaking my heart right in two and making it damned difficult to stay as stern as I needed to be at that moment. "Let me tend to my wife first, and then you can stitch me up afterward. Just have a seat and make yourself comfortable, alright?"

I might come to regret telling him to make himself comfortable, because his notion of doing so involved kicking back in one of the chairs, with his big feet resting on the tabletop, while he unscrewed the lid off of a fresh jar of corn. Granted that he was drunk most of the time anyway, but I wasn't overly fond of the notion of him sewing on me while he was legless from liquor, hmm, maybe I ought to reconsider letting Emma stitch me up after all…though, that might not have been all that wise neither, given the hint of fire that I could see lurking behind her tears.

Damn, I was in a hell of a tight spot, wasn't I?

Emma's POV

My cheek was throbbing, in spite of the washcloth full of ice that I kept pressing against it. I knew that Forrest's side had to have been aching as well, the wound had been a nasty one, one that had taken me awhile to sew up, but if he was hurting, he was keeping the pain to himself. He removed all of his clothing without looking at me, folding it neatly and placing it in the chair beside the bureau, all without speaking to me or even acknowledging that I existed, and then he climbed into the bed, sliding beneath the sheets and dousing the lamp without paying me any mind at all, leaving me standing beside the bed, staring at him stupidly, with my clothes half on and half off.

I hadn't turned on my own lamp, so I was bathed in darkness when he turned off his, and hurried to remove my clothing, down to my skin, just as he'd done, gritting my teeth against the urge to curse at him while I did so, though my mind wasn't nearly as choosy about keeping the uncomplimentary thoughts at bay. I slid beneath the covers, and shivered involuntarily when my arm brushed against his bare back…wait a minute…he'd turned his back on me! It was bad enough when he'd spent the night before in his old room, in his old bed, but how could he sleep in our bed, with me, when he had his back turned toward me, which shut me off from him altogether?

"Aren't you even going to kiss me goodnight?" I asked quietly, wincing at the peevish tone of my voice, the one that made me sound like a spoiled brat.

"Hmm…no," he said, just as quietly, and just as petulantly, which meant that he fully intended to indulge in his own little pity party.

"Well, why in the hell not?" I demanded, knowing full well that I was growing more and more childish with every moment that passed, which embarrassed me, but not enough to make me silence myself and go to sleep.

"I just don't have the ability to do so, Emma girl, so why don't you hush up so's that we can both get a little sleep, alright?"

He didn't have the _ability_ to kiss me goodnight? Now what in the hell was that supposed to mean? "You've never seemed to lack the ability or the initiative before this night," I hissed, moving to rest against him, trying valiantly to ignore the feel of his strong, warm back pressed against my nipples and failing miserably. "So could you please fill me in on what in the hell makes this night any different from the others?"

He made a sound which might have been a chuckle, but it couldn't have been, because that didn't make any sense, did it? "What makes it different? Do you really want to know, darlin'?" he asked, and now I knew that there _was_ laughter in his voice, and that made me even angrier than I already was.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know, would I?"

"Hmm…well, I'll just say this, Missus. It's awfully hard to kiss the lips goodnight that have been chewing on my ass all day."

I didn't say anything in response, truth be told, I didn't have the ability to say anything to him, because I was too busy gaping, and when I wasn't doing that I was sputtering, like someone who'd completely lost their ability to communicate. He had a lot of nerve, to be talking about my supposed 'chewing' when he'd done his own fair share of gnawing on me throughout the day. I wanted to tell him that, I wanted to tell him a hell of a lot more than that, but I flopped over onto my side instead, silently stewing, while my mind raced and formulated ways to pay him back, painful ways, bloody ways, painfully bloody ways…..

"Hmm…are you plotting out my demise over there, or are you too busy pouting to think about anything else?"

His voice was light and teasing, too light and too teasing for my liking. I was happy to ignore him for the moment, lest I say something that was childish, because that was all that I could handle at that moment, but all of my intentions to keep my juvenile behavior to myself went right out of the window when I heard him chuckling.

"I do _not_ pout!" I shouted, rolling onto my side…and finding myself face-to-face with my husband, who was grinning at me in a way that infuriated me, and caused a knowing quiver to run through me at the same time. "And yes, I might be plotting, but my mind is my own, therefore I can do whatever the hell I want to do, can't I….?"

My words died away in an instant when he pressed his lips to mine. His touch was hungry and filled with need, but it was gentle and searching as well, and made that quiver that he'd started inside of me flare completely to life, trumping and extinguishing my temper in a heartbeat. He kissed me the way that he had when he was first courting me, and then the tip of his tongue parted my lips, and he rolled me, very easily, almost embarrassingly so, onto my back and took me into his arms, kissing me until I was limp and breathless and then he backed away from me, smiling just a little when I let loose with a whimper of protest.

"I don't want to fight with you anymore, Emma girl," he whispered, bending his head to touch his lips to each of my cheeks, then to the tip of my nose. "I don't mind the occasional disagreement, because there's always a lot of fun to be had in making up, but it pains me when we get so intent on hurting one another. I'm sorry that I acted like such an ass. I knew better the whole time, but I let my pride take the lead….."

"I'm sorry too," I interrupted, circling my arms around him and pressing my palms against his back. "I don't like fighting with you any more than you like fighting with me, it's just with everything that's happened, it's all been so stressful, it's so hard to deal with and I…oh, God, _Forrest_."

He'd been running his lips all over my face, then down my neck while I spoke to him, but he hadn't stopped there. He'd traveled even further south, baring my breast and bending his head to take my nipple into his mouth and I delved my fingers into his hair, arching beneath him and whimpering when he bit me, very gently, then ran his tongue over the tiny ache, a caress that I would have sworn that I could feel between my thighs.

"What are you doing?" I asked breathlessly, biting back a moan when I felt his fingertips tracing their way down my tummy, lower and lower still, until they found, and teased, the flesh that was growing warmer and wetter with every moment that passed.

"Hmm…well, I'm pretty sure that we just got through with all of our fighting, darlin', so that means that we need to move on to the making up, doesn't it?"


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Emma's POV

The days were growing shorter, and with that the temperatures were growing colder as well, which necessitated me dragging my fall and winter clothing out of the trunk, so that I could wash and iron them, to ready them for wear, once the weather grew too chilly for my spring and summer wardrobe. There was one wool skirt that I was particularly looking forward to wearing, one that I'd always thought clung to my backside a little more than what was proper, which seemed perfect now, given Forrest's fondness for that part of my anatomy, and I rushed to try it on, to make certain that it still clung to my fanny in the way that I'd once considered to be scandalous.

The skirt went on easily enough, and it clung to my backside in a way that was certain to draw my husband's attention, but for some reason the waistband was tight, so much so that I almost couldn't fasten the button in the back. After several frustrated tries, which left me breathless, with tears in my eyes, I realized that I had gained weight during my time as Forrest's wife, and I started to panic, wondering what he might think, and what he might do, if I no longer physically resembled the woman that he had married.

I started running through the possibilities of what might happen, each worse than the other, until the tears that I'd worked up trying on my skirt started to slide down my cheeks, and I was all set to work myself up into an honest to goodness crying jag when I heard a soft knock on the bedroom door, and a voice spoke to me from the other side.

"Emma, I was thinking that I might work on washing the windows first thing today," Annie said, raising her voice, to ensure that I would hear her loud and clear. "Unless there was something more pressing that you needed me to see to first, that is."

There was a part of me that would have preferred that I do my boohooing in private, because it was an embarrassing thing, to be sure, to be crying like a baby over a little weight gain. That being said, Annie was my friend, she was quickly becoming my best girlfriend, and there was an even bigger part of me that wanted a sympathetic ear to hear my woes, and a caring shoulder that I could cry on, and that was why I opened the door, not thinking how strange I would look wearing my slip and a skirt that was too tight, paired with ceaseless tears that were busily coursing down my cheeks, until I saw the look that was on her face.

"Lord have mercy, Emma, what on earth is wrong with you?" she asked, pushing me back into the room, and closing the door quick, so that no one else would be able to witness that I'd pretty much come apart at the seams. "You look like your heart's breakin' in two, and I know that it can't be a tussle with your mister that's got you in this state, 'cause the two of you've been makin' eyes and smoochin' day and night since that last knockdown, drag out that you had, so what else could have possibly happened that would have you cryin' your eyes out like the world done come to an end?"

"Oh, Annie," I sobbed, throwing myself into her arms, a move which nearly sent both of us tumbling to the floor. "I'm so fat, and so ugly, and Forrest isn't going to love me anymore, is he, because what man would want a wife who was fat and ugly lying in the bed next to him? What am I going to do? How can I fix this fast, before he has a chance to see me naked again? I can't possibly….."

"Miss Emma," she whispered, hugging me close for just a moment, then setting me back away from her, resting one of her hands on each of my shoulders, to ensure that I didn't lose my balance. "Have you been dipping into your husband's corn when he wasn't looking?"

I drew back away from her and jerked my chin in her direction as righteous indignation took the place of some of my fear and sorrow. "I'll have you know that I never imbibe, Annie Howe," I said haughtily, a mite too arrogantly, as a matter of fact, for a woman who was half-dressed and had been bawling her eyes out just moments before, in a way that might have suggested that she'd taken leave of her senses. "What on earth would give you such a preposterous idea, if you don't mind me asking?"

She laughed at me, which I didn't appreciate at all, then patted her hand against my shoulder. "I couldn't figure out where else you'd have come up with such nonsense, less'n you was drunk," she said, biting back another giggle when she looked at me, or, more specifically, at the outraged expression that had taken hold of my face. " 'Cause the fact of the matter is that you ain't fat, and you ain't ugly, and even if you was, that husband of yours would go on loving you anyway, because his love ain't the kind to be put off by nothing or no one, no how and no way….."

"I'm getting fat, which means that ugliness is only a few steps behind," I argued, turning around, so that she could see the button of my skirt, which looked like it might burst open at any moment, with her own eyes. "This skirt fit like a dream at the end of March, but just look at it now. It's tight, so much so that I can scarcely draw a deep breath, and the only possible explanation is the fact that I've behaved in a gluttonous fashion since I came to live here at the station….."

The look on her face made my words die on my tongue. It was an expression that said that she still found a great deal of humor in my pain and embarrassment, but it also told me that she knew a secret, and, even more bewildering than that, it was one that she clearly expected me to know. I felt like I ought to know what she meant, I felt very foolish and childish, but I just didn't know what it was that she had figured out.

"Emma, I don't mean to butt into your personal business, but when was your last monthly?" she asked me quietly, placing her arm around my shoulders. "Has it been awhile since you bled?"

My cheeks flamed and I ducked my head to stare at the floor, wondering how I ought to answer. I was unaccustomed to speaking to anyone about something as personal as my cycle, I didn't even talk to Forrest about that sort of thing, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it _had_ been awhile since I'd had the curse pay a visit to me, it had been two months, at least.

"I think that it was the around the beginning of August," I said, mentally counting backward, in a vain attempt to pinpoint the exact date, and feeling like a complete dolt when I realized that I couldn't. "Though, now that I think about it, it might have been sometime in the last couple of weeks of July."

She smiled at me, and tightened her hold on my shoulders, leading me over to the chair where Forrest would lay his clothes, neatly folded, each and every night before he came to bed. She waited until I'd taken a seat and was kind enough to refrain from laughing at me when I had to pop open the button on my skirt before I sat down, lest I cause it to burst open all on its own, and then she started in with her questions again, queries that led me closer and closer to that which she'd already figured out for herself.

"Has your tummy been givin' you fits?" she asked, in that way that said that she already knew the answer that I was going to give her.

"Yes," I said, thinking of all of the days of late that had begun with my head in the commode.

"Have you felt worn-out, even after you had a good night's sleep?"

"Yes, most times I have to sneak a nap during the afternoon, just to make it through to bedtime."

"Have you been makin' water with more frequency than you did before?"

Oh, Lord. This just kept getting worse and worse, didn't it? I couldn't remember any other time in my life when I'd had such a thoroughly personal and embarrassing conversation with anyone of my acquaintance…but then everything became clear in an instant, I had startling realization, and I knew the truth. It was something that I'd suspected, but had denied for some time, because I didn't want to get my hopes up, only to suffer disappointment.

"Annie…do these symptoms mean what I think they mean?" I asked, thinking to myself that if there was anyone who was an expert on the subject, it had to be her. I tried to tell myself not to get too excited just yet, I said that it wouldn't do me any good to allow my imagination to take hold of me, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't help but picture me and Forrest, cuddling a tiny bundle between us, a little boy who looked just like his daddy, or a little girl who looked just like…her daddy.

"I'm pretty sure that you're expecting, Miss Emma," she affirmed, reaching out her hand, to place it on my belly, which had never been all that flat, and which would soon swell even more to support and protect a child. "But you ought to think about havin' the Doc check you out anyway, just to be sure. I can cover for you this afternoon, and if everything is as I suspect it is, you'll have some good news to share with your mister this evening."

How odd. I couldn't recall a single moment when Forrest and I had even discussed having children. Granted, we'd had our fair share of practice as far as the act of begetting them was concerned, but we'd never actually discussed that part of our future together. I suppose that it was simply one of those assumptions that a couple makes, that they'll eventually have children, but now that I thought about it I realized that I didn't know whether or not Forrest even wanted children.

Surely he would, wouldn't he? I hoped so, because I wanted them with every fiber of my being, and I didn't just want any babies, I wanted _his_ babies, I had for years. I just prayed that he wanted mine as well, because this was definitely a decision for which there would be no compromise, at least, there wouldn't be, where I was concerned.

* * *

Dr. Calhoun P. Worrell was a boisterous and friendly sort, the kind of man who looked like he would be the perfect choice to play St. Nick on Christmas Day, even though his beard was a sunshine shade of yellow instead of white. He was jolly and round and had the gentlest touch that I'd ever felt from a man outside of my Forrest, and all of these things combined almost made up for the fact that I'd spent the past fifteen minutes stark-naked on his examination table while he surveyed the landscape of my femininity…almost, but not quite.

"Well, Mrs. Bondurant, you and Forrest ought to be able to get a gander at this little one come the end of April or the beginning of May," he said, nodding to his nurse, Betty Knowles, who smiled at me and hurried forward to give me a scratchy, well-worn dressing robe, so that I could cover my nakedness. "Granted, you're not exactly a spring chicken anymore, but you're still fairly young, and I don't see anything that ought to make this pregnancy, or the delivery, any harder for you than it is for any other woman. Now then, do you have any questions that you would like to ask me, Mrs. Bondurant?"

I suppose that he meant to make me feel better, to assure me that there was nothing for me to fear, but I had already experienced enough trial and tribulation for one day, when I thought that I was on the brink of growing hideously fat and ugly, I didn't need to hear that I was kind of long in the tooth to be breeding as well. At any other time I might have been tempted to let him know, as politely as possible, that I would appreciate it if he would keep his personal opinions to himself, but I was too jubilant over the news of our little bun in the oven to allow my temper to spark to life and engage my mouth to do its dirty work.

"Is there anything in particular that I ought to do to prepare, or should I just go on with life the way that I've been living it until now, Doctor?"

The truth of the matter was that I was still in shock from this sudden development, and that meant that my brain wasn't as quick as it would have normally been, and that was why I couldn't think of a single one of the questions that would have been helpful to ask. Land sakes, I was barely started in my pregnancy, so what in the hell could there be for me to do to _prepare_ myself? It was an idiotic query, at best, but thankfully for me, Dr. Worrell seemed to take my apparent dimwittedness in stride, as opposed to doing anything and everything in his power to ensure that I knew just how dumb I sounded to him.

"Just make sure that you get plenty of rest, eat yourself a good amount of fresh fruits and veggies…and keep the shine deliveries and trouser wearing to a minimum, and you ought to be just fine."

Hmm…I thought that I had done all of the blushing that I was going to do while I was naked. It seems that I was mistaken, wasn't I?

* * *

I'd parked Forrest's V-8 in the alley behind Dr. Worrell's office, on the off chance that he and his brothers might drive through town on their way back from the home place, as opposed to taking the long way around. I wasn't sure how I was going to break the news to my sweetheart about the baby that we had made, but I did know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I didn't want it to be a discussion that had its roots in the fact that he'd spied his car parked in front of the doctor's office.

Most of the time I would have been more aware of my surroundings, after all, I'd been a widow for a good long while, and I knew that there were plenty of men about who were less than savory, but my guard wasn't in place as I fumbled in my purse to retrieve my keys, and I didn't hear the footsteps of the trio of men until they were practically upon me.

All of my defensive instincts were heightened then, after they'd surrounded me, but I didn't have time to scream before one of them clamped his hand over my mouth and rubbed himself very suggestively against my backside, while his friends moved close to me, one on each side, all of them pressing in on me, to ensure that I wouldn't be able to move, let alone cry out for help or fight back against them, in the hopes of preventing them from doing whatever it was that they meant to do to me.

"Mmm…you are quite a handful, aren't you, Mrs. Bondurant?" the one who was behind me breathed in my ear, holding one hand firmly over my mouth, while the other one was free to roam over my body, roughly stroking my breasts, then down to my stomach, and back up to my breasts again, and I choked on a sob when I felt him rip open the bodice of my dress, so that he could fondle me through the thin covering of my slip. "I bet Forrest likes giving it to you each and every night, don't he?"

The other two crowded closer, grabbing what they could, until the one who was rubbing himself against my bottom shoved them aside. "Back, you sons of bitches," he ordered, slipping his hand inside of my slip and grabbing hold of my bare breast, pulling on it, and pinching it, until I was screaming against his hand. "I get the first taste, and then, if I decide that I don't want seconds, I'll let you have a go at her."

His hands were smooth and clammy, and I could smell his scent, a nauseating mixture of sweat, cigars and carnations, all around me. He released my breast for a moment, and reached in between our bodies, to unfasten his trousers, then to raise the skirt of my dress, and in that moment I knew that I had no choice but to fight. I had been with one man, and he was the only man that I ever intended to be with, and I'd be damned if I was going to stand still and let one rapist, and possibly his two best chums, violate me against my husband's car, not while I had a breath of life left in my body.

My mouth had opened when I was trying my best to scream while I sobbed, and he'd foolishly allowed some of the flesh of his palm to slip between my teeth. It was an oversight that he grew to regret, as I clamped my teeth down on him as hard as I could, while I slammed my head back against his face with enough force to make something, I believe it was his nose, crack. It was his turn to bellow then, and I added my own voice to the hullabaloo, shrieking for help at the top of my lungs, while the other buffoons did their best to grab hold of me and silence me.

Three against one were never good odds, and they were even worse when the one was a smallish woman, surrounded by three men who weren't necessarily gargantuan in size, but who certainly weren't tiny either. Needless to say, they managed to overpower me before I could run, and they held me in place, the lesser goons holding my arms, while their leader, with his bleeding palm and shattered nose, backhanded me across the face, once, twice, then a third time.

"You stupid little cunt," he muttered, slapping me a fourth time, grinning when he saw my bottom lip split open and spill blood onto my chin. "I heard tell that you have a hard time knowing when it's best to keep your mouth shut, and I guess you just proved that point, didn't you?"

He put a hand on my shoulder, to steady me even further, I suppose, then drew back his fist, and I knew that he meant to hit me in the stomach. A picture of my baby, nestled in my womb, unseen and unheard, but loved none the less, rose to my mind, and I struggled in vain against the hands that held me, tears coursing down my cheeks, while I turned loose of my pride in order to beg for mercy.

"Please, don't," I sobbed, feeling a scream rising in my throat. "Please don't hurt my….."

"Alright you mangy sons of bitches," a voice thundered from the head of the alley, a voice which was no longer boisterous or jovial in nature, but one that was booming and cold as ice, to match the look that was on Dr. Worrell's face. "I know that I took an oath to do no harm to my fellow human being, but from what I can see, the three of you don't qualify as such, and if you don't turn loose of Mrs. Bondurant _right now_, I'm afraid that I'll be obliged to unload this hog leg into you, one by one, and I don't give a hoot 'n hell if I kill you deader 'n a doornail. As a matter of fact, I do believe that it would make my day if I was to do so….."

He raised the 'hog leg' and took aim, and that was all the encouragement that the trio needed to tuck tail and run, and they took off down the alley, followed closely by the doctor, then, surprisingly enough, by Howard, who'd come running with Jack, and Betty Knowles, who must have fetched them somehow and someway, close on their heels. My eldest brother-in-law paused just long enough to take in the sight of me, battered and bloodied, with the bodice of my dress hanging open, a sight which made him curse long and loud and colorfully, before he ordered Jack to stay behind to keep an eye on me.

I expected him to argue, but surprisingly enough he didn't say a word to his brother. He placed his arm around me instead, snuggling me close to his side, all while he kept his eyes trained anywhere and everywhere that didn't have to do with my chest. Betty took one look and saw that I was in good hands for the moment, then rushed back inside, and I hoped that she'd went to fetch that tattered robe for me, so that I might cover myself.

"Forrest will be here soon," he murmured, rubbing his hand against my shoulder, which I appreciated, because I'd started shaking and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make myself stop. "He stayed behind to finish up the chores and sent us on ahead, but I know that he was planning on coming this way, and someone is bound to stop him, once they catch sight of him."

I heard Dr. Worrell and Howard returning, both of them muttering and cursing about the 'sons of bitches', but they quieted somewhat when they caught sight of Jack and me. The good doctor went on ahead, returning to work, now that his other job was finished, brushing aside my whispered words of thanks and leaving me in the company of my brothers-in-law, both of whom were clucking over me like a couple of mother hens.

"Don't you worry none, Miss Emma," Howard said softly, in a tone that was unlike any that I'd ever heard him use. He reached out and took me away from his brother, shucking off his jacket and wrapping it around me, before he pulled me close to his side. "Them bastards might have given us the slip this time, but I got a good look at 'em, and at their car, and we'll track 'em down and see that they answer for what they've done."

We stayed still like that for a while, until they were satisfied that I'd had time to calm down somewhat, and then they started to help me toward the car. I wasn't sure which of them meant to drive me home, but in the end I didn't have to worry, because someone else had just arrived, and there was no question at all that his company was the one that I preferred. It was funny, I guess, in a way that wasn't very funny at all, how I'd managed to keep my tears at bay when Howard and Jack looked at me, but all it took was one look from Forrest, and suddenly I was sobbing like a newborn babe.

I pulled away from Howard and Jack and stumbled toward the man that I loved, sputtering and sobbing with each breath, watching him through eyes that were blurred by my tears. He was holding out his arms to me, even though we were still a ways away from each other, and the look on his face was downright stormy in nature, but not toward me. It seemed to be taking me an eternity to reach him, but finally I was there, and he gathered me close in his arms and pressed kisses all over my face as he murmured words that comforted me and assured me that everything was going to be just fine, and for just a moment I didn't believe him, but then I felt his warmth and his strength pressed against me, and against my tummy, and suddenly I knew, without a doubt, that he'd spoken the truth.

A/N: I'm sorry that I didn't give Forrest a chance to speak his mind in this chapter, but rest assured that he will have plenty to say in the next one.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Forrest's POV

I ought to have been headed upstairs to bed, but I stayed down below, filling salt and pepper shakers to the brim, straightening a little here and there, even though everything was exactly as it ought to be. I scrubbed tabletops and countertops that were already clean, and swept and mopped the floor three times, all in an effort to get a firm grip on my temper before I went upstairs, to be in my wife's presence. I ought to have cooled down enough to be able to do that by now, given all the time that had passed, but damned if I didn't feel just as mad as I had this afternoon, maybe even more so, if I had to hazard a guess.

I was her husband, I was supposed to keep her safe from any and all danger, and this afternoon I had fallen down on the job in the worst way possible, and as a result she'd damn near been raped by three sons of bitches who were still wandering about somewhere, when they ought to have been laid up in bed, plum worn-out from the operation that the doctor had performed to remove their nuts from places they were never meant to be. I figured that one of them could've been made to wear them as ear muffs, after I stapled the damned things to his earlobes, another could've had a permanent bow tie sewn to his throat, while the other one, the one who'd put his filthy hands on her breasts, well, let's just say that he'd need the services of one of them proctologists when I got done with him, had things gone the way that I wanted them to, that is.

"I think that you've cleaned this place up as much as you possibly can, Forrest," Howard said, coming out of the kitchen, where he and Jack had been tending to stocking ingredients where they were needed, so that Annie could get home to her kids. She'd offered to stay as long as we needed her to, and I knew that she'd wanted to go to Emma, to comfort and console her, one woman to another, but I'd sent her home as soon as I walked through the door. Annie was a good woman, and a good worker, and a good friend to my wife, but this was a time for family only, and she didn't qualify.

"You ought to go up and be with Emma," Howard said, walking up behind me and placing one hand on my shoulder, turning me toward the staircase, as if I was a small child, or a feebleminded fool, one who needed his help to do anything and everything, lest I make a mistake. "Me 'n Jack can finish up in here and then we'll skedaddle, alright, little brother?"

I knew that he was trying to help me, he and Jack were both continuing with what they'd already done, and I ought to have been grateful to both of them for coming to Emma's rescue, and I was, I suppose, deep down inside, but I also couldn't help but think of the fact that they'd been there, they'd acted as backup to the doctor who'd put a stop to the defiling of my wife, while I'd been the one who'd heard everything secondhand. How could she possibly not be disappointed with me? How could she not feel some sort of resentment toward me, no matter how small? And standing there, feeling his hand on my shoulder, I couldn't help but be reminded of the sight of Emma standing between my brothers, being held and comforted by them, instead of me, and damned if I didn't get mad all over again.

"Why don't the two of you get the hell out of here right now?" I asked petulantly, jerking my shoulder away from his touch, like a spoiled child might have done. "Hmm…I think that y'all have done enough today, haven't ya, or would you like to go upstairs and give my wife another snuggle before you leave, because I obviously can't do a damned thing for her myself, can I, Howard?"

I wasn't shouting at him, but I wasn't whispering either, and I heard the door to the kitchen creak open as Jack came out to investigate. Damned Jack, he was even worse than Howard. He was just a kid, a little shit who was too wrapped up in the goings-on in his own world to pay any mind to the needs of others, yet today he'd been there to help my wife. He'd protected her and consoled her, and been the one who'd held her while Howard and Doc Worrell had given chase after the bastards who'd hurt her. I was the one who'd been running behind, who'd dragged his damned feet, when I ought to have hurried, but I hadn't known that I had to…and that was a piss-poor excuse, at best, but it was the only one that I had, and that made me even madder than I already was.

"I know that you're hurtin' right now, and that's what's makin' you act this way, Forrest," Howard said, backing off of me, to give me my space, while he held up a hand to Jack, one that said that he didn't need his help, and to stay out of the way. "And I'd be wastin' my time if I told you that there was no need for you to be all het up over what happened this afternoon, so I won't tell you that. What I will tell you is that there's no reason for you to be blamin' yourself for not bein' there to stop them bastards from doin' what they did, 'cause you had no way of knowin' that there'd be a need for you to be there, did you?"

"That don't make any difference….."

"It makes a hell of a lot of difference, Forrest; you're just too damned stubborn and too damned pissed to admit that to anyone, even to yourself. The truth is that you want to lay your hands on the bastards that hurt Emma, and you can't, so there ain't no wheres for that anger inside you to go but outward, at those who ain't wronged you, and inward, to blame yourself for not protecting your wife the way that you ought to have done and so on and so forth until you're all torn up inside, ain't that right?"

That was pretty much the truth of things, as a matter of fact, he'd pretty much summed everything up to a tee, and I found myself wondering when he'd managed to get so smart. Granted, he'd never been all that dumb, at least not in my opinion, but I couldn't remember many other times when he'd been so keen about what I was feeling and why I was feeling it. It was nice to know that he cared enough to make the effort for me, and I felt like an ass for acting the way that I had. I knew that I needed to apologize to him, and to Jack as well, and I also needed to thank both of them for all that they'd done, but knowing and doing always seemed to be two very different things for me, especially where finding the right words was concerned.

"Hmm…I reckon that I owe the two of you an apology, hmm, and I also owe you my gratitude, hmm, for all that you've done for me and for Emma….."

"You don't owe us anything," Howard interrupted, slapping his hat on his head and moving toward the front door, followed closely by Jack, who paused for just a moment, so that he could slap his hand against my shoulder a couple of times in that style that we'd always used, because hugging on one another would put us in danger of being called a sissy. "And neither does Emma. We did what we did because she's family, and you protect your family with no thought as to whether or not they'll say thanks or pay you back. Now get on upstairs and give your pretty wife a squeeze. Lord only knows why she likes you so much, but she does, and there ain't no man alive that she'd rather have kissin' on her than you, ain't that right, Brother Jack?"

Jack followed Howard's suit and slapped his hat on his head, but his movement was one that was born from a man who wanted to make a quick escape, not one who had made up his mind to be a smartass before he skedaddled. "I ain't saying nothing 'bout any of that," he muttered, stepping outside before he turned to wave goodbye to me. "I know it's taken me a good long while to learn, but I'm finally starting to see that it's best for me to keep my mouth shut in times like these. Don't you think you're a little long in the tooth to be carrying on the way that you do, Brother Howard?"

Hmm…I never would have expected to find a reason to smile on a day like this one had been, but who could frown when they were watching their brothers tear around the yard, hats in hand, while one tried to throttle the other?

* * *

My hand was resting on the doorknob, refusing to turn it, even though I'd told myself that it was the easiest thing in the world to open a door. I told myself that Emma was waiting for me to come up to bed, I told myself that the appointed hour that usually found me undressing for bed had come and gone, and that my wife was probably starting to worry about what might have happened to me, but I just couldn't make myself turn that knob, no matter what I told myself.

We hadn't spent many nights away from one another, even before we were married, but it occurred to me that Emma might have wanted a little privacy, after all she'd been through. She might have even _needed_ a night or two to herself, and I decided that it was best that I spend the night in my old room, all by my lonesome. I hated to be away from her, but it was probably for the best. That being said, I could still go in and say goodnight to her, couldn't I?

I took a deep breath and rattled the doorknob in my hand, to let her know that I was about to enter the room, then I took a longer, even deeper breath and slowly opened the door. I hadn't known for sure what to expect, I wasn't sure what state I would find her in, and it was a relief to find her sitting up on the bed, reclining on the pillows…a relief that died a quick death and became something altogether different when I saw that she was as naked as a newborn babe.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come up to bed," she said, using that tone that was soft and sultry, the one that I'd grown very fond of, but had never expected to hear, at least, not on a night like this one. "I was starting to think that I might have to come down after you, and I think that we can both agree that my doing so would have scared your brothers out of their wits, isn't that right, honey?"

She was trying to make me laugh, she was doing her best to pretend that everything was okay, but I knew that she really didn't feel that way. I knew that she'd sensed my anger all of the way home, then for the rest of the night, even though I'd done my best to keep some distance between the two of us, and now she felt like she had to make an effort to put me at ease. I thought that I'd already felt as low as I could, but now I realized that I could feel a hell of a lot more snakelike than I already had, and it was a damned uncomfortable sensation, to say the very least.

"Hmm," I grumbled, one of those types of responses that had been commonplace for me when she'd first come to work at the station. "I just came in to see if you needed anything before I hit the hay. Hmm…a glass of water, or an extra blanket, hmm, is there anything that you need, darlin'?"

For a moment she just stared at me, then her eyes grew kind of squinty and she leaned back against the pillows, folding her arms beneath her breasts, which did things to their appearance that made my mouth go dry, for just a second, 'til it started watering, and I had to worry that I was going to start drooling at any moment.

"Well, what I wanted, what I _needed_ was to have my husband here beside me in our bed, where he belongs," she said softly, and her eyes lost the squinty look and took on the sultry expression that she tended to wear when she was trying to get under my skin. "I didn't realize that you intended to sleep somewhere else, Forrest. Did I do something wrong, have I said something to upset you, or is this because of what happened today?"

Aw, hell. I didn't want her to think that way, that was the last thought that I wanted her to have, but what else did I expect, when I'd been just fine with the notion of sharing a bed with her the night before, and now, after the day that we'd had, I'd announced that I intended to sleep down the hall from her, like I was punishing her for some sort of infraction on her part? Lord knows that I'd done that before, but I'd promised that I would never handle a conflict that way again, and here I was, breaking my promise, at least, I was in her eyes, and what other opinion mattered at this moment….?

Well, shit…maybe I ought to have left this part to Howard and Jack after all, because I sure as hell wasn't doing either one of us any good, was I?

I'd had every intention of keeping my distance from her, I'd told myself that she needed time to heal, and she couldn't do that with me grabbing hold of her all of the time. Every instinct that I had cried out for me to hold her, to soothe her as best as I could with the warmth and safety of my arms, but then it dawned on me that she wouldn't want me to touch her, not after she'd endured what she had, and that was why I'd made up my mind to watch over her from a distance. Was it possible that I was mistaken?

Of course it was possible, hell; it was probably more likely than not, as a matter of fact, given that I knew so little about the female heart and mind.

"Aw, darlin' you didn't do or say anything that was wrong," I said, crossing the floor without another thought as to whether I ought to or not. I laid down beside her on the bed and crossed my arms over my chest, just like she had, so that I wouldn't be tempted to touch her in any way that might be called improper, then turned to look at her, in the hopes that I might be able to show her what I was thinking and feeling with my eyes. "And what happened today was not your fault, and I damned sure don't hold you responsible for what those sons of bitches meant to do….."

"Then why have you been avoiding me?" she interrupted, sliding up against me and testing my resolve with the feel of her hands sliding up my chest, and her fingertips as they unfastened the buttons of my shirt. "You held me at first, and nothing made me feel better, nothing could have made me feel safer, but after we got home you wouldn't hold me, or kiss me. It seemed like you didn't even want to be in the same room with me, and now you say that you want to sleep in your old room. Why is that, Forrest? What do I need to know? What is it that you're not telling me?"

Hmm, maybe my instincts had been right after all. She did feel safe and warm in my arms, so I ought to be cuddling her every chance that I got. She needed me to touch her, and to kiss her, and to sleep in the bed beside her, preferably while I held her in my arms, but what about the rest of what we did every night? On one hand I was inclined to believe that she needed a break from all of that, but then, on the other hand, she had unbuttoned my shirt and was busily pushing it off of my body, which suggested to me that she wanted to make love, but that couldn't be…could it?

"Those bastards had their hands all over you today, and I…hmm, I don't want to behave in a way that will remind you of what they did to you, hmm, of what they meant to do to you….."

She looked at me again with that gaze of disbelief, and then she pulled me close against her, until her chest was rubbing against mine. She slid her hands around my neck and laid her lips against my throat, kissing her way along the scar that I knew was big and ugly to behold, but which she always treated reverently, and she always touched it, and kissed it, even though I would have understood if she hadn't wanted to.

"Two men did this to you," she whispered against my skin, raising goosebumps up and down my arms with the feel of her breath, warm and soft on my flesh. "They held you down, and they hurt you, and there was no one there to stop them from doing that to you. If I was to use your logic, I would never touch your scar, I would never kiss it, because it might bring back memories that were bad and painful for you. But I love to touch you there, I love to kiss your scar and feel it against my lips, because you survived what happened that night, and I hope that I can help to heal that wound for you. I hope that I can take away the bad feelings, and replace them with those that are good. Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Forrest?"

I took a deep breath and slid my arms around her, clutching her close to my chest. "You want me to take away the memory of what they did to you," I answered, moving back away from her just a bit, so that I could kiss her neck, starting right beneath her ear, then making my way down, 'til I reached her shoulder. "You're saying that I can make it better, that I can undo the damage that they've done…hmm, is that right, darlin'?"

I thought that it would probably take more than one night of love making to make that possible, and chances were good that she would never be able to forget it, not completely, but what she'd said about my scar was true, so it stood to reason that she'd be right about what I could do for her. I wasn't liable to argue with her anytime soon, no matter what reservations I might have been holding onto, because she was busily unfastening my britches, and the feel of her hand on my bare flesh made me gasp, and then growl, just like it always did, and I was a tad too busy enjoying myself to worry about anything else.

"How could an ugly memory like that hope to hold up to what you do to me?" she asked breathlessly, whimpering and digging her nails into my nape when my lips brushed across her nipple, almost as if I'd hurt her. She'd made that same sound last night, when I'd drawn her nipple into my mouth and though she'd always been sensitive in that spot, she'd never acted like I was hurting her before…..

I hadn't noticed something last night when we'd made love, because the lamp beside the bed had been turned off, but looking at her in the glow of the light I noticed that her breasts seemed…well, different, somehow. They were always full, but now they seemed just the tiniest bit more so, and there were delicate veins showing beneath her skin where I hadn't seen any before, and Lord knows I'd studied her breasts enough to have noticed, had they been there before. My eyes drifted lower, to her waist, which seemed to have thickened somewhat, not much, mind you, not enough to draw my eye during the day, when she was clothed, but now, looking at her naked…..

It dawned on me that I hadn't asked her why she'd been to see Dr. Worrell, and I started to wonder, then looked at the changes that I could see in her, combined with the other things that she'd complained about, and a realization hit me over the head and had me seeing stars, all while a grin, a big, ear to ear sort of beam took hold of my mouth and wouldn't let go.

"We did it, didn't we, Emma?" I asked, laying my hand against her belly, curling my fingers over the life that I imagined there, the small seed, born out of our love for one another, a tiny soul that was busily growing in his or her momma's womb. "I'm going to be a Daddy, and you're going to be a Momma, isn't that right?"

Her eyes were filling with tears and her lip was trembling, but she was smiling just the same as I was. "We surely did, Forrest," she whispered, reaching down to place her hand over mine, stroking me, and I stroked her, which stroked the baby as well, or so I liked to think. "You're a Daddy, and I'm a Momma, and there's no one and nothing that can ever take that away from us either."


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Forrest's POV

She was sleeping on her back, with one arm thrown over her head and the other hand resting on her belly, and I was obliged to pass the time staring at her and memorizing every single feature, even though there was a fair amount of work that needed to be done. It had been two weeks since she'd told me about the baby growing in her womb, well, since I saw that she was changing, that is, and every day brought new alterations to her form, and each morning started exactly as this one had, with me waking to see that she guarded our little one with her hand. It was a sight that warmed my heart, and almost diverted my attention from her naked body…almost, but not quite, you catch my drift?

I wanted to touch her, I wanted to slide down on the bed and move her hand off of her stomach, so that I could kiss our little one good morning, and then I wanted to move back up, so that I could kiss my wife as well. I even entertained the notion that I might slip my hand between her thighs at the same time that I laid my lips onto hers, but she was always so tired, and if I was to wake her up she would remember that there was breakfast to fix and dishes to do and a hundred other things that I thought could wait awhile, so I forced myself to be content with watching her instead, even though I knew that my patience wasn't liable to hold out for very long.

She shifted in her sleep, and smiled very softly, and sighed something that I had to strain to hear, and then I smiled when I recognized my name escaping her lips. She was dreaming about me, and based on the way that she'd said my name it was a good dream, one of those that made her feel all lovey-dovey toward me, and I reckoned that I'd just hit the jackpot, which meant that there was no need for me to lie there motionless, aching all over for her, when I could always mosey on over to her instead and use my hands and my lips to get her in the mood for a morning of loving.

There was only one hitch in my plan, one fly in the ointment, you might say, and that was my fear that I was going to cause her pain, what with her being in a delicate condition and all. I was also worried about how the sight of my pecker might be harmful to our little one. I suppose it was a goofy thing to worry about, hell, I didn't even know if the baby could see just yet, but I could easily imagine that if they could, it might scare them out of their wits, to get an eyeful of their Daddy's dingle moving straight toward them, as if it meant to do them some sort of harm.

I suppose that it was a little late for me to be worrying about that sort of thing, after all of the times that we'd made love with our little one nestled in her womb, but I couldn't help but think that I was more and more of a pig by indulging myself in the soft warmth of her. A man ought to be gentle with his wife when she was expecting, he ought to be loving and patient, and understand that there were some things that he'd just have to do without for a while, but no matter how hard I tried, no matter that I knew these things, I still couldn't keep my hands, not to mention my pecker, to myself.

"Mmm…Forrest," she sighed, stretching a bit, then, aw, hell, running her hand up from her belly to her breast. "Ohh…For_rest_."

Well, hellfire and damnation. That pretty much ruined any chance that I had at behaving as a good husband would, that pretty much ruined my half-assed attempt to act like a gentleman, didn't it? How could a man possibly be expected to stay away from his wife when she was touching herself and moaning his name? I had a hard enough time resisting the urge to take her when she was dead to the world and not making a sound, other than the slow, steady beat of her breathing, so how could I hope to do so while she was shimmying about on the bed and making those breathless whimpering sounds?

I wasn't certain if my actions were the sort that a man could be punished for, but at that moment I didn't really care. I scooted up next to her, kissing my way from her belly to the breast that was covered by her hand, moving it aside, so that I could stroke her nipple with the tip of my tongue, then I drew it into my mouth and paid it all the attention that it deserved, tracing her flesh, and circling it with my tongue, then biting it, very gently, before I sucked on it and make it press itself against my tongue.

She was naked, I was naked, she wanted me, well, at least she did in her dreams, and I was hornier than a two-peckered goat and just about out of my mind with my need for her, and that was why it made perfect sense for me to slide my hand between her thighs and touch her. She was wet, and swollen against my fingertips, and I could feel the warmth that drew me in and charmed me, and all that it took was that small touch to have me tossing any of my reservations about whether or not I ought to make love to my wife aside. The only thing that remained was for me to wake her up, because there was no way that this would feel right if she was asleep, and imagine my surprise when I raised my eyes to look at her face and saw that she was wide-awake…and the smile that was on her face said that she'd been that way for a good, long while.

"Good morning, honeybun," she said softly, with a smile in her voice that went hand in hand with the one that was on her face. "I was beginning to think that I was going to have to reach over and make the first move myself before you took the hint, and that was going to be kind of tricky, given that I was supposed to be asleep….."

"You mean that you were awake that whole time?" I interrupted, feeling a little hurt by the knowledge that she hadn't been chasing after me in dreamland after all, but not so much that I felt the need to move my hand away from her warmth and wetness. "I thought that you were dreaming about me…hmm…I guess you were just teasing me, wasn't you?"

She gasped when my fingertip brushed over her tiny swollen pearl, and just like that, the tables were turned, and I was the one who was doing all of the teasing. I wasn't inclined to torment her in a bid to get back at her for fooling me, I wasn't partial to that sort of behavior, but I was all for tempting her if it meant that I would hear her gasping and whimpering my name, because that meant that all it would take was the feel of me sliding into her soft and silky flesh to make her come apart beneath me.

"I always dream about you, Forrest," she moaned, grabbing hold of my shoulders with her hands and pulling me close, while she threw her leg across my hip, drawing me in, until I was a whisper away from her sweet honeypot, and all that was between her flesh and mine was my hand, which I was all too happy to move out of the way. "When you're away from me in the day, and all night long, after I go to sleep, you're all that I think about…I think that I'm kind of smitten with you, honey."

Nothing ever felt better to me than her warmth as it closed all around me, hugging me close, and this time was no different, and all that it took was that first caress to make her arch against me, digging her fingertips into my shoulders, while she screamed out my name, just like I hoped she would. Momma had always told us that vanity was a sin, and it was something that I'd managed to avoid for most of my life, but I couldn't help but smile in a way that might have been just a tad bit smug while I listened to her gasps and moans.

"Hmm…that's alright, darlin'," I murmured, reaching down to take hold of her legs, so that I could twine them around my waist. "Because the truth is that I'm pretty smitten with you too."

* * *

I was still thinking about Emma, about how she felt and how she sounded, about how she looked, and the sweet smells that clung to her, and needless to say, I was a little distracted from the chore of going over the inventory out in the shed with Howard and Jack. I tried to do my share of the counting in a way that said that my mind was solely on the task at hand, but I kept losing my place, and before long I had to give up and turn to ask Howard a question, but only after Jack had moved over to the opposite corner of the shed.

"Howard, I need to talk to you about something," I murmured, trying my best not to look him in the eye, because I knew that I was bound to blush if I did, and then I'd never hear the end of it. "I need a little bit of marriage advice, and I figured that you'd be the best man that I could ask, since, hmm, well, you and Lucy, that is, hmm….."

"Aw, hell, Forrest, just spit it out, will ya?" he asked, irritated to be interrupted while he was counting. "There ain't no reason for you to be stumblin' over your tongue, is there…unless this question has to do with you 'n your missus makin' them old bedsprings yonder squeak and squeal, that is. Is that why you're sweatin' like a preacher in a whorehouse, little brother?"

Damned Howard, I might have known that he'd find a way to have a laugh or two…or a hundred…at my expense. I had to have been the world's biggest fool for trying to have a serious, adult conversation with him, but who in the hell else was I supposed to ask? I suppose that I could have talked to Dr. Worrell, or to Pa, but I just didn't have the nerve to bring up the subject with them, though, if I had to choose between the two, I'd take the Doc over Pa any day.

"How long is it safe for a man to love on his wife when she's in a motherly way?" I whispered, staring at my feet and kicking at the dirt.

"What was that, Forrest?" Howard fairly shouted, chuckling softly when I turned to glare at him. "I didn't catch what ya said. You're gonna have to speak up a little if'n ya want me to be able to hear ya. My ears ain't never been the same since I got back from the war, ya know?"

"Bad hearing, my ass," I muttered, which only made him laugh harder. "I _said_ how long is it safe for a man to love on his wife when she's in a motherly way? I'm worried that I might be hurting Emma, or the baby, and if I am, then I need to stop right now, but if I'm not, then I can….."

"…..Keep on lovin' on her until she goes into labor?" he said, finishing my words with ones that I hadn't necessarily been thinking about, but which sounded pretty damned good, now that I heard him speak them aloud. "That little critter is wrapped up nice 'n snug in your missus, and you ain't gonna hurt 'em with your pecker, no matter how big ya might think it is. It's perfectly safe for you to snuggle bug with her as long as she feels like it, so don't be feelin' guilty for doin' so…enjoy that while it lasts, 'cause she might not be in that frame of mind with the next one that ya plant."

I ignored his smartass comment that was aimed at my manhood, because I knew that he was hoping that I'd rise to the bait and give him something new to laugh about. I guess that I was just showing my ignorance in the way that a woman's body is formed, but I'd never had any reason to think about that sort of thing. I knew the basics, of course, and there were a few wonders that I'd discovered the last couple of months, but there was still a great deal that remained a mystery to me.

"Well, Emma seems to like things just as well as she always has, even more, to be perfectly honest, but….."

"Whoa, now, slow down a little bit, Forrest," he interrupted, turning to look at me with a big ol' shit-eating grin on his face that told me that I was in big trouble. "I need a little more details here, I need to get me a picture formed in my mind where that missus of yours is concerned…..aw, hell, there ain't no need for you to get all het up, little brother. I was just havin' a little fun's all, I didn't mean no harm, or no disrespect, and you know that too, don't ya?"

He was backing away from me, with his hands held up in front of his body, in what I suppose was an effort to talk me out of whooping his ass, but my blood was pumping a mite bit too fast for me to pay any attention to his surrender. It was bad enough for him to even consider thinking of my wife in the altogether, but it was at least a hundred times worse for her to be all hot and bothered in that picture, and I wasn't going to stand by and let him get away with that, joke or no joke.

"Or, if you're still worried about it, you could always concentrate your attention on having a little taste of peach, can't ya, if you want her to be satisfied, but ya don't feel that you ought to….."

I would have thought that he'd know better than to mention something like that to me when I was already all lathered up, but for some reason he didn't pick up on what a huge mistake he was making until he'd already stirred me up good and proper. I was all set to let my fists swing, when suddenly Jack came wandering over, undoubtedly drawn by the tension in the air, which he seemed to forget about in a heartbeat, when he overheard the words that our big brother had just spoken.

"Alright, Forrest, where are you hiding it?" he said, looking behind me, rooting through the boxes of corn like a hog snuffling through the slop, searching out the tastiest bits for itself. "You might as well tell me, because you know that I won't leave you alone until you give me a piece."

Howard looked just as bewildered as I felt, but he looked relieved as well, to have the heat removed from him, at least for a moment. "What in hell are you going on about, Jack?" I asked sharply, irritated to be interrupted by my pain in the ass baby brother when I'd been all set to wallop my pain in the ass older brother. "I ain't hiding nothing, so why don't you get back to work and mind your own damned business?"

"I heard you and Howard arguing. I heard him say Emma's name and something about a peach, and I know that means that she made a peach cobbler and you're trying to hide it from us, so hand it over, Forrest. I know that you're a selfish son of a bitch, but you can't think that I'm going to let you keep all of that cobbler for yourself. Emma's peach cobbler is the best that I've ever tasted, it's sweet and spicy, and when it's that perfect temperature, the perfect level of warmth…mmm-mmm, that's some damn good peach cobbler, and you know it to, don't you, Forrest?"

I'd only thought that I was angry before, I'd only thought that I'd been seeing red and tasting blood, but now I knew that I'd been mistaken, because now I was really and truly as mad as hell. My fist wasn't clenching and unclenching by my side any longer, it was tightly flexed now, so much so that it was starting to hurt, and I knew that the only thing that would help would be the knock the tar out of someone, not Howard anymore, though God knows he could use a good ass whooping. Nope, I figured that Brother Jack was the one who'd taken the spot as the one who begged the hardest, and I decided that it would be my honor to give him exactly what he was asking for.

"Don't you be getting all bent out of shape with me neither," he said, moving back to stand in front of me, a spot that I might have told him was dangerous, had I felt like warning him about anything. "There ain't a man around who's had a taste of what your missus has to offer who wouldn't agree with me, ain't that right, Howard?"

"Aw, hell, leave me outta this mess, Jack," Howard said, backing away slowly, with his hands firmly in place in front of him. "Don't be too harsh with him, Forrest. He don't know what in hell he's talkin' about, otherwise he'd know to keep his mouth shut, wouldn't he?"

Maybe Jack didn't know what he was saying, and it would have been best, for him, to fess up that he didn't, but he was a stubborn little shit, one who hated to be left out of any conversation or of any situation, and this time was no different. I can't remember how many times he'd gotten thumped for not knowing when to keep quiet, and he just kept talking himself deeper and deeper into that hole that he'd dug for himself.

"Dammit, there ain't a man 'round these parts who's enjoyed the taste of their own wife's peach cobbler since they sampled Emma's, and you're just going to have to get used to the facts, Forrest. Men come from miles around just to get a sniff of what she has to offer, and one taste only whets their appetite. I'm a mighty hungry man, so bring out what she gave you, or I'm going to go inside the station and ask her to give me some hot, fresh….._oomph_.

His words died in a heartbeat as my fist made contact with his stomach, and I knocked him off of his feet and onto his ass with the second punch, which landed smack-dab in the center of his eye. I suppose that I ought to have been satisfied with the two blows I'd already given him, but the truth was that my blood was pumping mighty fast, and I wasn't quite ready to stop, which was why I picked him up off of the ground with my left hand, while my right hand continued to hammer into various parts of his body.

He was crying by the time I got finished with him, and I'd cooled down enough that I was able to fully grasp what I'd just done. I felt like dirt, hell, I felt lower than dirt, and that was why I reached down and pulled him up off of the ground, when a few moments ago I wouldn't have pissed on him if he'd been on fire. I brushed off his clothes and pulled my handkerchief out and cleaned him up as best as I could, and then I walked out of the shed, before I took to hammering my fists against the walls as a penance for what I'd done.

I'd always had a hell of a temper, it was something that had always been present in me, but it was something that I'd never given much thought to, not until now. I could say, without a doubt, that I'd just as soon cut off my hands with a dull and rusted blade than to ever lay a hand on my wife that wasn't loving in nature, and I was just as certain that I'd never hurt our little one either, so why in the hell had I hurt my baby brother? Why couldn't I control that part of myself where he was concerned?

I suppose that I needed someone who'd do like my Momma used to do when I'd get to acting ornery. I needed someone who wasn't too scared to make me straighten up and fly right…and as it turned out, there was someone who was willing to do just that, and all that it took was one look at Jack's face and my fists to have her flying off of the handle.

Emma's POV

I was in a fine mood, smiling while I worked, even humming a tune every now and then, and it was all because of Forrest. I don't know how he managed to do it, but I figured that there must have been magic in his hands, to touch me the way that he did, not to mention his lips, and his tongue, and then there was the one thing on him that was the most captivating of all, that beautiful example of manly perfection that was all mine, the one that made me scream with ecstasy whenever he…..

"Well, Jack, now what in the Sam hill happened to you?" I exclaimed, all of my naughty thoughts forgotten for the moment when I saw my youngest brother slinking into the station, the way that he did when he was trying to hide something, a something that appeared this time to be his bloodied and battered face. "Who would do something like this to you? Where were your brothers at?"

I had every intention to question him further as I hustled him back toward the kitchen, in the hopes of keeping him out of the line of sight of any customers that might come in, but then the screen door opened again, and Howard walked through, looking very uncomfortable, followed closely by Forrest, who looked downright sheepish, not to mention guilty as hell, with his swollen and scraped knuckles.

I suppose that he could see my temper sparking in my eyes, it wasn't as if I'd made any attempt to keep it a secret, and he raised his hands in front of his body, like a man who was attempting to offer a surrender. "Now, Emma, don't go flying off the handle," he said softly, in a tone that said that he was doing his best to placate me, and that made me even angrier. "I know that I shouldn't have hit him, but I apologized to him, and he's forgiven me, so there isn't any need for you to hit the roof….."

"The hell there isn't!" I thundered, leaving Jack standing in the doorway of the kitchen while I stalked over to his brother, wishing with all my heart that I was wearing my tallest pair of heels, so that I could be closer to looking him in the eye, as opposed to my flats, which meant that he had a good six inches of dominating height on me instead. "What could he have possibly said or done that would make you beat him this way? Enlighten me, Forrest; tell me one good reason that you had for treating your brother this way!"

I'd halfway expected him to argue back at me, or at least he would have wanted to, but this time there wasn't any answering anger in his eyes, and that should have calmed me down a little as well, I suppose, but it didn't, if anything, it only added fuel to the fire of my temper, and before I realized what I was doing, I started shoving him backward, little by little, until I'd backed him into the bar.

"Why do you have to bully him, Forrest?" I raged, feeling tears prick at the back of my eyes. "He's your brother, for crying out loud! Why do you have to act that way? Why can't you be sweet and gentle with him like you are with me? Is that the way that you used to be with him too? Are you going to be mean to me one day too? Are you going to….?"

I don't know why I was so upset, or why I was suddenly so emotional, and I especially don't know why I would accuse him of something that was so awful, but I do know that I was thankful that he moved forward and took me into his arms. I was grateful to him for shutting my mouth with his own before I could say anything that was worse than what I'd already said, and just like that my anger dissolved within me, and I went limp in his arms, kissing him back with everything that I had…until I heard two throats being cleared, very quietly, and very discreetly, and I could feel my face burning as I moved back away from my husband, who I was happy to see was blushing just as furiously as I was.

"Ahem…well, Jack, why don't you come back here with me and I'll get you all patched up, and then I'll bring you all a little something to eat."

That perked them right up, and all three of them went to wash while I gathered up my supplies. "I made a big pot of chicken and dumplings, with a pan of cornbread, and fresh, homemade peach cobbler for dessert…now doesn't that sound yummy?"


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Forrest's POV

The weather was turning colder and Thanksgiving was only days away, and I reckoned that the time had come for me to make amends with my little brother Jack. He'd never mentioned the throttling that I'd given me, and I knew that he had forgiven me the moment that I said that I was sorry, but that didn't change the fact that I had wronged him, and that was why we were sitting down by the creek, freezing our asses off, in the pursuit of a some channel cat, which would make a man a mighty fine supper, and passing a jar of peaches back and forth, in a bid to keep the cold at bay.

Emma was planning a big feast for Thanksgiving, and I was worried that she was going to wear herself out, but I didn't have the heart, not to mention the nerve, to tell her that there was no need for her to go through so much trouble. I knew that the idea of all of the family getting together pleased her, just like I knew that she liked the notion of feeding everyone all by her lonesome, but why did she insist on doing things that were going to have me worrying about her day and night?

Don't get me wrong, I was definitely looking forward to digging in to her cooking, but I had gotten myself into the habit of taking care of her, of doting on her, and that was why I was looking forward to her birthday, which would be upon us a little less than a week after Thanksgiving. That was the day when I was going to take it upon myself to treat her like royalty, and I wasn't going to hear a peep out of her that said otherwise on the matter…I just wished that I'd found the bastards that had made the mistake of putting their hands on her, so that I could serve up their balls to her on a golden platter.

"Dagnabbit!" Jack said loudly, reeling in his line to find a hook that had been picked clean by a fish that had no desire whatsoever to offer itself up as a sacrifice. "Hell's bells, Forrest, it's colder'n a witch's titty out here. What do you say that we head on back and get our womenfolk busy frying us up some of these fish for our supper?"

I had braved the frosty air for a chance to make amends, and that was the thing that stopped me from pointing out to Jack that I had caught most of the fish myself, therefore, _I_ was the one who could look forward to a feast. There was also the fact that he had probably just scared away and all of the channel cat that had been swimming through our section of the creek, which meant that I was just plain out of luck if I'd wanted any more, but I was determined to keep my opinion on those topics to myself, all in the hopes of smoothing over my relationship with my kid brother.

"Hmm…we need to have us a little talk before we head in, Jack," I grumbled, staring at the jar of peaches that I was clutching in my hands, while I prayed for some sort of inspiration to take hold of me, so that I might make it through our little talk with the majority of my dignity intact. "I need to explain to you why I acted the way that I did."

I knew that I didn't need to be more specific about the behavior that I was referring to. I knew that it had torn at him, to have me treat him the way that I did, and I could tell by the look that had just come over his face, the one that was a mixture of embarrassment and just the slightest hint of fear, that he was worried that I might repeat the mistake that I'd made that day, and it hurt me, to know that I had caused him to be scared of me.

"Aw, hell, it weren't nothing, Forrest," he said quietly, reaching out his hand to take hold of the jar of peaches when I offered it to him. "I know that you were all bent out of shape over what happened to Emma, and you were bound to explode sooner or later. It's understandable that you would be feeling a mite bit hot under the collar, and it was only a matter of time before you had no choice left to you but to put your fists to work, to fight off some of that anger….."

"Hmm…I never should have laid my hands on you, Little Brother," I said gruffly, feeling uneasy, now that emotions were making their way into the conversation. "What happened to Emma and our little one was horrible, it was wrong, and when I catch the sons of bitches who are responsible they'll wish they'd never been born, but there ain't nothing about them, or that day, that has to do with something that you did wrong, so why in hell should I be given permission to take my frustrations out on you?"

He looked at me, then at the ground, and then he took a swig of the peaches, a gulp that proved a mite too generous, which was why he started coughing, and then cussing a blue streak when the peaches took a route outward that involved traveling through his nostrils. At any other time I would have found humor in his misery, even if I didn't show it, but I was determined that I would have respect for him, and his pain, even if I did so in silence, which meant that he had no idea at all about how nice I was acting at that moment.

"Alright, Forrest, I'll bite," he said, once he'd regained his ability to speak, and after he'd dried the twin trails of snot that had drained out of his nose on his shirtsleeve. "What in hell did I do, or say, that would make you take out your anger on my face?"

I was distracted by the snot that was glistening on his sleeve, I was sidetracked, and I was disgusted as well, and it took me a moment to bring my mind back to the track that it'd been traveling before his lack of manners had thrown me off. "Hmm…well, if you'll recall, I was having a conversation with Howard and the subject of peaches came up. Do you remember that part, Jack?"

He looked a little bewildered by the tack that I'd taken, and I suppose that I couldn't blame him for that, could I? He'd probably expected me to lay bare my feelings on what had happened to my wife outside of her doctor's office, he probably expected me to share with him how helpless I felt, and how I wanted, more than anything, to find the whoresons who were responsible and spill their blood, but that wasn't something that I wanted to talk about with him. Truth be told, I didn't want to let anyone that I loved know how I felt about what had happened, honestly, I didn't dare, because I was too scared to ponder what they might think of me, if they knew how deeply my anger, and my need for vengeance, ran through me.

"Yeah, I remember that, Forrest," he said slowly, in a tone that suggested that he was entertaining the notion that I might be going a bit soft in the head all of the sudden. "And I thought that you and Howard was hiding a peach cobbler that Emma had made, and I told you that I wanted my fair share of it and you plumb went apeshit on me."

He'd gotten all of the details right, but he didn't understand why, and damned if I didn't blush like a tittering little girl over the fact that I was the one who'd have to clarify things for him. "We weren't talking about Emma's peach cobbler," I said, reaching over to take the jar from him and gulping it until all that was left was a single swallow. "I was all het up over the thought of hurting Emma and the little one, if I was to, hmm, be _intimate_, with her, and Howard was assuring me that everything would be just fine, if I was to, hmm, go about loving her just like I always had, and then he reminded me that I could always, hmm, eat her peach instead, if I was really, hmm, that worried about causing her, or the baby, any distress."

He was still staring at me with that befuddled look on his face, and it was really starting to irritate me. "Well, hellfire, say something," I muttered, handing him the jar of peaches, in the hopes that he would concentrate his slack- jawed ogling on it instead of on me. "You look like a damned ol' channel cat, what with those buggy eyes and gaping lips."

It would seem that he didn't appreciate being compared to a catfish, not that I'd really expected him to. Jack was as vain as a peacock, and tended to preen and primp more than a woman, and me likening him to an ugly, bug-eyed fish had been just what was needed to break him out of his bewildered reverie. I suppose that it wasn't the best way for me to go about making peace with my baby brother, to insult him and poke fun at him, but there were times when I just couldn't help myself, and this was definitely one of them.

"What was Howard talking about, when he said that you could 'eat her peach instead'?" he asked, shifting his gaze away from me, blushing blood red as he did, which told me that he had a pretty good idea what I was talking about already.

"Hmm…take a gander at this, Brother Jack," I said, pulling out a peach from my lunch pail. I cut it open, and removed the pit, then sectioned it into quarters. "A woman is like a peach, all sweet and tart, with a honeypot hidden away for you to find, if you're lucky, and patient, and everything that a loving husband ought to be. Hmm…there are a number of ways for a man to make love to his wife, but there ain't no reason why you should limit them to the flesh that makes you a man, not when there are other ways for you to have a taste….."

"Holy shit," he whispered, staring at the fruit that I was holding in my hand, his wide eyes following the droplets of sticky nectar as they beaded on, then flowed down, my fingers. "Are you telling me that men actually _eat _on a woman's cooter, and she lets them, and likes it, and that they like it as well…is that what you're telling me, Forrest?"

Well, glory be. He had caught on to what I was telling him a hell of a lot faster than I had expected him to, and I was profoundly grateful for the fact that I wouldn't have to delve too deeply into a more complicated, and thoroughly humiliating, description of all of the wonders and possibilities that laid between a woman's thighs, just waiting to be found and appreciated.

"Hmm…I can't speak for every man in creation, Little Brother, but as for me, hmm…well, yes, I do like to love on my wife that way, she lets me do that to her, when the urge suits the both of us and she don't just _like_ it, she loves it…and I do too."

"Holy shit," he murmured, sounding like he was mired in a mix of both shock and awe. "But…well…don't it hurt a woman, using your teeth on her?"

I jerked my head 'round to look at him, completely forgetting that I'd been embarrassed and was therefore doing my best to keep my eyes away from his. "The hell are you babbling about?" I asked, kicking the toe of my boot against the ground and scattering the leaves that had gathered there. "Whoever said anything about _teeth_ being involved?"

I wouldn't have thought that it was possible for him to turn any redder than he already had, but I was mistaken. "Well, you said, that is, you told me, hmm, you said 'eat her peach' and how are you supposed to do that, if you don't use your teeth?"

I snorted as I choked back a laugh, and reached out to smack my hand against his back, nearly knocking him off of our fishing log in the process. "Boy, you are about as sharp as an old, rusted soup spoon, aren't you, Brother Jack?" I asked, chuckling in earnest when I saw that his ears were turning red, which was a sure sign that he was angry, in addition to being embarrassed. "You don't use your teeth, you use your fingers, and your lips, and your…hmm…your _tongue_ to make love to her that way, not your damned teeth, not unless you want her to slap you silly, that is."

"No wonder you were so sore at me, thinking that I was talking about Emma's….."

His voice trailed away, and I saw that the hue of the skin on his face was nearly purple, and I started to worry that he might do permanent damage to himself. "I knew better, deep down, but it was just the trigger that I needed," I told him, slapping my hand on his back again, much gentler this time. "It was just the push that I needed to get nasty, the thought that you were talking about Emma and her sweetness and her little button that's all mine….."

"What little button?" Jack asked, looking bewildered once more.

I couldn't say for certain what his experiences with Bertha Minnix were, intimately speaking, truth be told, I had no desire whatsoever to know the particulars, but it didn't sound good for her, if they'd done any sort of heavy petting at all, if my brother didn't know what little button I was talking about, did it?

"Hmm…her magic button, the one that's hidden, the one that you find with your fingers and your lips and your…hmm…tongue," I explained, feeling my own face flame as I launched into a description that I never would have dreamed I'd be speaking of aloud, especially not to my baby brother. "It's one of the spots that makes her go crazy, it makes her get all hot and bothered, and it's one of the places that you pay attention to, so that she'll get pleasure….."

"Holy shit," he whispered, interrupting me. "You mean that there's magic buttons on a woman?"

I nodded and did my best to keep from laughing at him all over again.

"And you mean to tell me that not only do these places exist, but that there's also more than one?"

I had to laugh a little that time, I couldn't help myself, and I let loose with a chuckle as I nodded.

"Holy shit," he said, thoroughly awed by that time, so much so that he'd forgotten his embarrassment. He raised the jar of peaches to his lips and drained it in one gulp, then drew the back of his hand over his mouth. "You've got to tell me more about all of this, Forrest, then I can tell Bertha, and then she might be willing to let me have more than just a peek every now and then, don't you think?"

Emma's POV

Forrest would be home soon, he would bring in a pan filled with channel cat filets, just waiting to be breaded and fried for supper. He was always very hungry after he'd been fishing, and he loved catfish, and I was eager to cook it for him, not because I cared for it myself, but because it made him happy. I was making my way to the kitchen, planning what I would cook to accompany the fish, when I heard the door open behind me and I turned to greet the one who'd come in…and my crocheting, which I'd been working on all day, fell to the floor when I saw the man who'd stepped into the station, followed closely by two more familiar faces, all of which made my stomach flip-flop nervously within me.

"How-do, Mrs. Bondurant," the one in the lead said, smiling broadly as he drew a knife out of his coat, pushing his thumb against the button on the side, which made a blade spring out of the end. "You and me have a little unfinished business with one another, don't we?"

I thought of the pistol that was behind the bar, the one that Forrest had given me, an old Colt .45 that had belonged to his father, and wondered if there was any hope at all of me reaching it before the trio grabbed hold of me. There was no one there to help me this time, I was all alone in the station, having sent my father and sister-in-law home an hour before, because I'd foolishly made the assumption that I would be just fine until Forrest got back to the station, and the pistol was my only hope…but only if I could reach it before they reached me.

"You must be plumb out of your mind," I hissed, backing toward the bar, not daring to take my eyes off of them, in spite of the fact that I could have probably moved a little faster, if I'd turned around to run. "Forrest will kill you for this; you know that, don't you?"

"Ooh, the scared little pussycat has grown herself some claws, hasn't she, boys?" he said, chuckling as he moved around the tables and started ambling toward me, followed closely by the ugly duo that seemed content to let him do all of the talking. "I like that, Mrs. Bondurant; I like my women when they're full of piss and vinegar. It makes it all the better when I fuck them, and that's what I'm going to do to you, and there ain't a damned thing that you, or that ape of a husband of yours is going to do to stop me."

I slid my hand down to my stomach, to stroke the little life that grew there. I wanted to live, I wanted to bring my baby, _our_ baby into the world, I wanted that more than anything, and I would kill this sick son of a bitch before I'd allow him to take any part of me…or I'd die trying. That was the thought that bolstered me into turning, to run to the bar and take my gun into my hand, but they were on me before I could move, just as I'd feared they would be, and the hard edge of the bar slammed into my back as I was thrown against it, knocking the breath out of my body with an _oomph_.

"Uh-uh, bitch," the one who was in charge, the one who'd been so intent on raping me in that alleyway, whispered, running the tip of his blade over my cheek while I struggled against the two that were holding me in place. "You've had this lesson coming for a long time, there are those who think that you need to be reminded of your place, and I'm going to have a damned good time teaching you better. Then I'm going to let Jerry and Alan have a taste of you, whichever way they want it, and after I fuck you one last time, I'm going to cut that whelp out of your belly and leave it dangling out of you, so that it'll be the first thing your hillbilly husband sees when he walks into this room."

I didn't want to cry in front of this bastard, or his buddies, but I couldn't stop the tears from flowing as my mind formed every single image that he'd just described to me. I couldn't free my hands to fight back against him, or the others, because they were holding me too tightly, but I could still move my leg and I brought it up and applied my knee right where it would do the most damage. He howled when I made contact and staggered backward, but recovered quickly and used the back of his hand to show me how angry I'd made him, again and again, one cheek and then the other, until it felt as though my flesh would rip apart.

"Stupid little cunt," he snarled, ripping apart my dress, popping open the buttons, from neck to hem. "This is happening to you, there is nothing that you can do to stop it, and the sooner that you accept that, the easier that it will be."

He used his knife to tear open my brassiere, and then he sliced off my panties, and left me clad only in my stockings. He held the blade to my neck with one hand, while the other stroked and pinched its way over my breasts, then down further, between my legs, and I choked back a sob when I felt his fingertips sliding inside of me.

"Kinda dry, aren't ya, bitch?" he said, chuckling as he opened his trousers and freed himself from the confines of his underwear. "I don't mind that too much, it makes you tighter, and that's all that I care..."

His voice trailed away, ending in a squeak that was a mixture of surprise and terror when his henchmen's heads spurted blood, first Jerry's, then Alan's. They slumped to the ground as the deafening sounds of the gunshots that had killed them faded and then my would-be rapist was jerked away from me, his knife dropping to the ground, as he was made to face the man who'd just dispatched his buddies, and he immediately started to plead for his life, blubbering and jerking his hands in a futile attempt to pull up his trousers.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Forrest growled, bringing him close to his face and smiling, a terrifying grin that made a cold shiver race through my body. "This is happening to you, there is nothing that you can do to stop it, and the sooner that you accept that, the easier that it will be."


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Emma's POV

Forrest had his hand pressed against the small of my back, and he kept it still, for the most part, except for the times when he would rub his fingertips against the muscles that had knotted up painfully and needed to be caressed back where they belonged. There were also the moments when my emotions, which I was working so hard to keep under control, would swell up, and threaten to choke me, and then I would feel the light caress, the warmth, and the strength of his palm as it caressed me, and just like that, as if by magic, I would be alright, because he was there if I needed him, and Lord knows that I needed him badly.

It was awkward and humiliating, standing there, in front of everyone, in a dress that was torn open from the neckline to the hem, but I wanted the lawmen to see what had been done to me with their own eyes. I wanted to be sure that there would be no reasonable doubt in their minds that Forrest's actions had been to save me from dishonor, and, very possibly, from death, not only for me, but for our child as well.

Sheriff Hodges had his deputies remove the bodies as soon as they all had time to survey the scene, but the smell of death remained, courtesy of the drying puddles of blood that had stained the floor in front of the bar. It was all that I could do, to keep my composure, and not give in to the urge to vomit. Thank God for Forrest, for him being so stubborn and refusing to leave my side, for always being there when I needed someone to help me remember to be strong…to kill three pieces of trash when they got the idea in their pea brains to rape me, as if it was their God-given right to do so.

I was not so naïve that I would honestly believe that this was the first time that my husband had spilled blood, but I hated that he'd had to do so because of me. I ought to have been prepared; I ought to have been carrying the pistol that Forrest gave me on my person, instead of hiding it behind the counter, where it was of no use to anyone. I never should have sent Granville and Emmy away, no matter how much I might have craved a little time on my own. I'd made so many mistakes, so many stupid, idiotic mistakes, but there was no changing that now, there was no going back to fix any of it, so why was I beating myself up? I ought to let it go, and accept that it was over. That was what I told myself, but damned if _myself_ was all that interested in what I had to say, the stubborn little cuss.

"Hmm…that's enough of that, darlin'," Forrest whispered in my ear, curling his fingers against my back, hard enough to grab hold of my attention, but not so much that he was hurting me. "Those sons of bitches had no right to do what they did. This is our home, and they sauntered in here with every intention of doing harm to you, and to our little one, and that was their choice, not yours, wasn't it, Emma?"

I smiled, the sort that, I would imagine, held no happiness at all, but was instead a sad reflection of my anguish. "Yes, that was their choice, Forrest, but I'm the one who made it so easy for them to do what they did, I'm the one who wasn't being safe, who wasn't being smart, and I damn near ended up raped and Lord only knows what else, because of my stupidity!"

I wasn't shouting, even though I might have wanted to, and I was pretty sure that there weren't many in the room who'd heard me, save for my husband, but that didn't stop me from feeling embarrassed for allowing my emotions to take hold of me so completely. I suppose that it was understandable that I would feel fragile and on edge, I would imagine that anyone in my shoes would feel the same way, but that wasn't something that I wanted to display in full view of so many that I barely knew. It was bad enough to be acting that way in front of Forrest and he was my husband, the one who knew and loved me best, the one who'd been my knight in shining armor today…the one who looked like he was ready to remove his hand from my back and apply it, in a very firm and stinging fashion, to my backside.

"Now you listen to me, Missus, and you listen good, because I'm only going to say this once," he said, in a tone that was a dangerous growl, one that touched me in spots that had no business whatsoever in being so sensitive at that particular moment, but which shivered and warmed none the less. "This is _your_ home, not theirs, and that means that you have every right to be by yourself if you damn well please, and to keep your pistol behind the counter if that's where you want it to stay. _They_ were the wrong ones, darlin', not you. _They_ were the ones who weren't being safe or smart, not you. And I don't ever want to hear you call yourself 'stupid' again, not so long as I'm alive and well, because you're insulting the both of us when you say things like that, Emma Bondurant, and I don't take to kindly to insults being aimed in my direction, and I damn sure don't….!"

"Is this a bad time, folks?"

Forrest's voice died away mid-tirade, and we both turned around, red-faced and ashamed, to see Sheriff Hodges standing behind us, with two deputies who were torn between pretending as if they hadn't heard anything that Forrest had said and smiling to themselves, because the truth was that they'd been hanging on each and every word. It was a rare occasion that my husband spoke above a murmur, and I could only imagine how long it would take the tale to get 'round town about him raising his voice so that everyone in the station could get an earful of him blessing out his wife.

"Hmm…I reckon there ain't no _good_ to be found in times like these, Pete," Forrest said, leveling his gaze on the two deputies until they grew self-conscious and looked away, one scuffing the toe of his boot against the floor, while the other whistled an uneasy tune through teeth that were tightly clenched. "That being said, hmm, this is as good a time as any to have a talk, if that was what you was wanting, Sheriff."

I didn't particularly relish the notion of going through the events of the day with the deputies listening in, but what choice did I have? It was bad enough to imagine the words that would come out of my mouth being spoken in front of Sheriff Hodges, but now I would have to explain what those men had done to me, what they meant to do to me, to three males who had no clue whatsoever as to what a woman in my place would be thinking and feeling. It was a horrible concept, one that frightened me, and embarrassed me, but there was no use in complaining, was there?

"It's my opinion that this here is a clear-cut case of self-defense, but I do need to hear the particulars from both you and Mrs. Bondurant," Pete answered, which was just what I'd expected him to say. "Why don't the three of us have a seat in your office, Forrest, and get all this straightened out so's that we can clear on out of here and give you 'n Miss Emma a little peace and quiet, if that's alright with you, that is."

I wanted to assure him that yes, that sounded wonderful to me, but I wasn't the one that he'd addressed, was I? I understood that a man's opinion was always valued over a woman's, I knew that Forrest would always be asked a question first, that he'd always be told pertinent information first, and it was a way of life that I'd pretty well accepted, but it seemed to me that I was the one who ought to have been asked and considered, given that I was the one who'd nearly been raped. I was all set to open my mouth, to set the Sheriff, and every other man in the room straight, but Forrest, bless his heart, saved me the time and the trouble of potentially making an ass of myself by speaking up before I got a chance to say anything.

"Hmm…peace and quiet sounds mighty nice to me, Pete, but don't you think that you ought to be asking whether or not this sits well with _Emma_, instead of with me?"

I wanted to throw my arms around him, to hug him close and kiss him with all that I had, but I couldn't do that in front of the crowd that had gathered in the station, so I made do with smiling at him instead and sliding my hand into the crook of his arm. I rubbed my fingers over that spot, and felt a warmth take hold of me in my stomach when I saw him take a deep breath, one that left him in a shuddering breath, which told me that he was pleased, and that I affected him just as thoroughly as he shook me up.

"That would be just fine with me, Sheriff Hodges," I said, falling into step beside Forrest as we made our way to his office. "Would you like a little iced tea while we visit, or would you prefer coffee instead….?"

"Great balls of fire, Emma," Forrest growled in my ear, completely ruining the soft moment that we'd just shared, replacing it with something that caused my temper to spark to life. "This ain't a damned social call, you know. There ain't no need for you to fawn over the man and scrape and serve, for the love of….."

"Good manners don't have a single, solitary thing to do with _fawning_, nor _scraping_, though there is an opportunity here for me to _serve_, and why shouldn't I do that, Forrest Bondurant?" I seethed, as quietly as possible. "This is liable to take a while, and I don't know about you, but I could use a little refreshment, I don't think that's too much to ask for, after all that I've endured, do you?"

I could hear the Sheriff clearing his throat, and saw him playing with his hat from the corner of my eye, but I paid him little mind. I knew that I was carrying-on like an old fishwife, a _tetched_ harridan, at that, but I had experienced my fill, and at that moment I didn't give a flying fig what anyone thought of me…though I _was_ concerned by the look that I saw in Forrest's eyes, a gleam, of sorts, that told me that I was in trouble, because he was just about to make me even madder than I already was, and that couldn't have been good for anyone, could it?

"Hmm…of course you are, darlin', but maybe you'd better let me see to the refreshments. There might be a way for you to go about brewing a little tea, or a pot of coffee without your dress flying open, but do you really think that it's worth the risk?"

Forrest's POV

She was steamed, so much so that she'd refused to speak to me for the rest of the afternoon, and all through the evening. She'd basically ignored me while she went about scrubbing up and changing after all the lawmen had left, she'd snubbed me while she threw the dress and the underclothes that she'd been wearing into the trash barrel, and while she lit them on fire. She'd flouted my opinion when I'd insisted that there was no need for her to cook up the channel cat that I'd caught, and she'd flat out ignored me when I said that there was no reason for her to feed my family, even though they'd all showed up to offer their help where they could, and now she'd gone up to bed without saying a word, and I wondered if I was a fool for even considering entering our bedroom…maybe I ought to open up the door and throw my hat in first, wouldn't you agree?

Everything downstairs was freshly scrubbed and put back into its place, though it would be a good, long while before the bloodstains on the floor would be cleaned completely, if they ever were. Maybe it was best that they were still visible, maybe it would be good, for all of us, if there was some reminder of what had been done today, as well as what had been prevented. I'd finally gotten my chance to defend her, I'd been able to make up for the time that I hadn't been there for her, and Pete had cleared me of all wrongdoing, so why didn't I feel better? Why couldn't I move past the sick and sinking feeling in my gut, now that it was all over with?

It was because I knew that it _wasn't_ over with. I knew that the Cantrell's were the ones who'd sent those bastards after my wife, and they were still alive and well. It was only a matter of time before they sent more goons after Emma, and I thought of how I'd seen her that afternoon, with her dress ripped open and her body on display. I thought of what would have happened to her, if I hadn't been there to stop it, and I was almost crippled by fear when I thought of the possibility that I might not be there to save her if it happened again, I might be too late, and then what would I do, how would I live with myself, if I was to fail her again?

I stood there, frozen, with my hand on the doorknob, for what seemed like hours, before I got the nerve to turn it and step inside our bedroom. I didn't send my hat in first, I figured that I'd let her do what she would, and not worry about it, until it happened. She was lying on the bed, on her side, with the lamp blazing, and she was, God help me, naked, just the way that I liked her to be, and I wondered if that was how she meant to punish me, but then I saw the tears that were slowly making their way down her cheeks, and I forgot about everything else as I rushed to my side of the bed and climbed onto the mattress and gathered her into my arms.

Had I been thinking, I might have worried that she would push me away, considering how angry she'd been with me, but I wasn't thinking about that sort of thing, because I was too caught up in comforting her. Thankfully, she seemed to have forgotten how mad I'd made her, because she threw her arms around me and pressed herself close to me, and I closed my eyes, tight, while I held her and stroked my hand up and down her back, doing my best to ignore the fact that she was wonderfully warm and very soft against me.

"Shh, darlin', I'm here, and there's no one that can hurt you," I told her, and closed my eyes again, groaning low in my throat, when I felt her turn her head and press her lips against my neck. "Don't cry anymore, sweet girl, don't be sad, Emma."

She kissed me again, and I could feel the soft warmth of her breasts pressed against my chest, rising, and then falling, as she took a deep, shuddering breath. "I know that no one will ever hurt me again, Forrest, because you won't let them, but I'm sad because I hurt _you_. I was mean and hateful to you, and I had no call to treat you the way that I did."

She was really crying by that point, and it wasn't the easiest thing in the world, not by a long shot, but I made myself ignore my racing heart and my steadily stiffening pecker and moved her over onto my lap, backing up, so that I was resting against the headboard and cradled her close in my arms. Unfortunately for me, she decided to rest in a way that had her embracing my erection with her backside, but I wasn't going to let anything distract me from making her feel better. There was no better way to do that than to place my hand on her gently rounded tummy, and I took solace in the feel of her flesh, where our little one was sleeping, safe and sound, without a care in the world.

"Aw, darlin', I ain't going to hold your snippiness against you. I should have known better than to bait you, and I'm sorry for that, Emma. I'm sorry for this whole damned mess, and I wish that there was something that I could say, something that I could do, that would make it all go away and leave us in peace for a while. I breaks my heart to see you hurting in any way, and today I had enough of that handed to me to make me feel all empty and broken up inside. Hell, I know that I've got no business in bellyaching about all of this to you, not after all you've been through, but….."

She reached up and placed her fingertip against my lips, hushing me in an instant, and then made doubly sure that I wouldn't get it in my mind to say anything more by replacing her fingertip with her lips. She kissed me softly, wooing and calming me, and then she made me growl, deep down in my throat, by touching my lips with the tip of her tongue, shyly asking me to let her in, and I was happy to invite her inside and let her make herself at home.

"Shh, honey," she whispered, once we'd both taken a chance to catch hold of a breath of air. "We've both said that we're sorry, and neither one of us is feeling mad anymore, so why don't we set all of that mess aside? There's no reason for either one of us to feel sad, or scared, or unsure, not anymore. Everything's fine and it's going to stay that way, and there's just one thing that I can think of right now that will make it even better."

_Oh, merciful Lord help me_, I thought to myself, groaning and doing my best to keep my hips still, when what I wanted, more than anything, was to rub against her in a way that would leave her with no doubts at all about the need that was coursing through me. It wasn't helping matters that she refused to sit still, and that she kept rubbing against me, almost as if she was…hmm…trying to provoke me with her sweetly lush body.

"I love you, Forrest Bondurant," she whispered, reaching down to take hold of my hands, bringing them up, and placing them on her breasts. "Let me make love to you, please, honey. I need you right now, and I know that you need me as well…will you let me love you, pretty please?"

Damn, but I adored this woman, even if it seemed that she was determined to kill me from time to time. "Hmm…I love you too, Emma Bondurant," I said softly, bringing my fingertips together, to capture her nipples, so that I could tease them and stroke them, the way that I knew she liked. "And you don't ever have to ask my permission, darlin', I'm yours to have, however you see fit, and nothing would make me happier than to have you love me, just so long as I get to love you right back."


	24. A Note From Mary Sue

Hello Everyone!

I hope that you will forgive me for taking a moment to shamelessly promote three new stories that I have been working on. I have posted the first chapter of one of these stories tonight, a sequel to my Bane/OC story, _Hear No Evil_, which is entitled, _See No Evil_. I will be following this new story with another on Friday evening, one that is a sequel to my Charlie Bronson tale, _A Fancy For Little Lucy_, which is called, _A Pen Pal For Little Lucy_, and on Saturday evening I will be posting a sequel to my Royce/OC story, _Once Predators, Now Prey_, which is entitled, _The Hunter Becomes The Hunted_. Please note that I will continue to update slowly, but surely on all of my stories, and thank you for your continued support.

Miss Mary


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